A Reluctant Obligation
by AnneM.Oliver
Summary: Hermione needs help examing Dark Objects. In comes an expert, Lucius Malfoy, to help her. One item in particular will cause her trouble, and he will find that he needs to protect the little witch, who by the way, he thinks is quite fetching these days.
1. ONE

**Summary**: Hermione Granger works for the Department of Mysteries. Her current task is to examine dark objects. She needs help, so the Minister of Magic gives her a 'dark object expert' to help her with her work. Little did she know that the 'expert' is none other than Lucius Malfoy. She would rather die than except his help. That's the problem…she just might die, if one object does its job.

He finds her incredibly irritating, very annoying, and extremely pretty. He will find helping her no problem at all, except when one object just might be the death of her, then, he will find himself in a reluctant obligation to save her lift. He would just let her die, but he finds her quite fetching these days. If he had to save her life, he will, but he will want repayment of some type. Will she repay the debt that is owed him for saving her lift?

**All characters belong to JKR**

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**A Reluctant Obligation**

**By**

**AnneM Oliver**

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**ONE –**

Everything seemed in order, but that didn't stop Hermione Granger from being nervous. This important project, if successful, would guarantee that she would be awarded the money needed for her research. It was also important for another reason; if her project failed the Ministry would continue to further their 'trimming down' of her department. The Department of Mysteries had garnered a bad reputation since the end of Voldemort. Many, including those within the Ministry, felt that it was irrelevant to keep investing funds into something they knew so little about, and understood even less. If her plan succeeded, she would be able to prove to the Ministry that her department was still worthwhile. She would win back the respect that it was due, and still deserved.

She started working in this department three years ago when she first became engaged to Allen Newman. He was a Muggle-born, two years her junior, and the virtual love of her life. It was at his suggestion that she leave her job in Magical Law Enforcement and come to work in his department in research and development. His job was top secret, since he was an Unspeakable, but she knew he did dangerous work. The first day they met, there was an instant attraction between the two. They dated a year before they moved in together, and became engaged shortly after that, and then four months before their wedding, Allen was inexplicably killed, never to be seen again. There was no body, and no evidence of a homicide, yet that was what the Ministry declared. His death had to do with his job so she was never told anything more than that. He was there one day and gone the next.

Therefore, in many ways, she wanted this to succeed for him as much as for herself. Yes, she had a lot to prove.

Her research was based on dark objects, more specifically, how everyday objects could be used for dark purposes. She came up with the idea after Voldemort used sentimental, though common objects, for his Horcruxes. The Ministry was not happy with her research, for they felt it wasn't relevant. Harry Potter, head Auror, helped fund the project originally, and just having him in her corner meant a lot. He still had a great deal of influence with the Ministry. She felt by examining dark objects, they could learn how to defeat them. The Ministry had a whole archive filled with confiscated artifacts, and she wanted to start her research there. Many of the things were taken during the war with the round of up Death Eaters.

She felt her research and the study of dark objects would help future Aurors and even Hogwarts students to learn how to defeat dark magic and dark wizards. It would help them to know what they were up against when dealing with such things. The Ministry thought that the study of dark objects would attract dark wizards, but Harry pointed out to them that if they had been taught about Horcruxes and Hallows when they were younger, then perhaps the Dark Lord would have been defeated years before he was, and many people would not have lost their lives.

Finally, compromises were reached and her research began. She was given a small staff of five, and they were given two months to do their initial research, and then to present to the Wizengamot. If the Ministry felt their work was significant, then they would be given the grant to fund more research, and the real work could begin.

Harry donated all the former Horcruxes to Hermione for research. She wanted to carefully catalog all the items in the Ministry's possession, so that one day they might even open up a sort of "Dark Object" learning center, so future generations could learn from past generation's mistakes. A great many of the items that had been confiscated had belonged to Lucius Malfoy. After all, it had been at his residence that the Dark Lord had spent his last days. The entire home was picked apart, piece by piece, brick by brick, and destroyed. Any item not destroyed was given to her team to examine. Most of the items had been in storage for a very long time, but Hermione was sure their magic was still strong. However, it would have been dangerous for them just to start examining these items, when they didn't even know what dark magic they held.

She went to the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shackelbolt, and asked him if he could recommend a dark object expert. When he contacted her a week later and told her he found a perfect candidate, she was elated. When just two days after that she found out that person was Lucius Malfoy, she wanted to run away and hide.

As part of his early release from Azkaban, he would exchange his services and knowledge of all the dark objects the Ministry had confiscated. His wand would not be returned to him, unless needed in the research, and in addition to helping Hermione and her team, he would be under house arrest during his probation.

Hence, the meeting she was so nervously awaiting. Lucius Malfoy was set to meet with her and two of her staff members in less than ten minutes, and she was nervous as hell. She had to admit; his help would be tremendously valuable. Many of the items they were studying were still a complete mystery to them, and since over half came from his home, he should at least be able to shed some light on what they were used for and how the dark magic could be removed from them.

Hermione and two of her staff members, Joy Humphries and Mark Weaver, were all sitting at the conference room table, waiting for Lucius Malfoy to appear. She continued straightening the already neat stack of papers in front of her. She was tense. She didn't want to appear anxious once the man arrived.

Her secretary, Diana, ran in and said, "Two Aurors are bringing Mr. Malfoy in now. They're early."

Hermione stood up. She was nervous, that was for sure. Why was Lucius being brought up with Aurors? That wasn't part of the arrangement. While he was at the Ministry, he was to be considered a free man. When the two Aurors walked in the room, flanking the man, she asked them this question directly. "Gentleman, thank you for escorting Mr. Malfoy up to the room, but I hardly think we need to Aurors stationed with the man, when he doesn't even have his wand. Why are you escorting him?"

"Harry Potter's orders Miss Granger. We are to accompany him at all times. More for his protection, apparently, than for the masses. He's gotten many death threats. People don't like the idea of him walking around free," the man said.

"Oh, well, thank you Jeff," she said. She looked over at Lucius, who already seemed bored with the whole affair. He was every bit as imposing as he was the last time she saw him, which was back at the Battle of Hogwarts. Prison had not been kind to him these past ten years. He was very thin, and was starting to look his age, but yet, he still looked striking in his designer robes, his long blond hair tied back, and his ever impressive cane, which Hermione was sure was now just for ornamental purposes, since he did not have his wand.

"Well, you gentlemen can wait for him outside, alright?" Hermione said. She walked over to the door, opened it, and led them to the hall. She turned back around and said, "Mr. Malfoy, I take it you remember me. I'm Hermione Granger." She sat down and showed him a seat immediately to her right, which he took, and she said, "Across the table from you is my head researcher, Mark Weaver, and his assistant, Joy Humphries"

"Charmed, I'm sure," he said, not even looking at the two. He kept his stare, which was full of disdain, directly on Hermione Granger. He said, "And of course I remember you, Miss Granger. May I have something to drink?"

"By all means, we want you to be comfortable," Hermione said. She started out of her chair, when his cane came down on the table. Joy and Mark instinctively backed away from the table. Hermione merely looked at the man and said, "Yes?"

"Do you not have a secretary or a staff member who can get me some water? Must you do it yourself? Is the Ministry on such hard times that the bosses must do the work of the underlings?"

"I'll get the water," Mark said, standing. He walked over to the credenza, poured some ice water, and walked back over to the table. He placed it in front of the man.

"Mark is the project manager for this project, Mr. Malfoy. I know the Minister already informed you what our purpose is, and how you will be able to assist us. We still have many dark objects in our possession about which we are completely in the dark about, and which we are frankly weary of as well. That's where you'll come in. You will assist us with any knowledge you have of these dark objects, what their purposes are, and how we might deactivate them. We also need to know how dangerous they are and to whom they originally belonged. As I said, Mark is our project manager and you will work directly with him."

"And why would I do that?" he asked.

Hermione looked confused. She looked over to Mark and Joy and then back to the man and said, "That was the arrangement for your early release. You will do it or spend the remaining part of your sentence, which I believe is another ten years, back in prison. Now, as I said, you will be working directly with Mark…"

"That is what I meant," he interrupted. "Why will I be working with, what is his name, oh, Mark?"

"Because he is the project manager," she said once again.

"No," Lucius said.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"Are two-letter words too difficult for you to understand, Miss Granger?" he asked sarcastically. "I said no."

"Do you want to go back to jail?" she asked.

"No would be my answer to that as well," he said.

She glowered at him and said, "Then you will do as we ask, and you will work with Mark."

"No," he said once more. He smiled at her. She already wanted to hex him.

She slammed her fist on the table and Mark and Joy stared at each other in shock. Lucius looked highly amused. Hermione said, "Minister Shacklebolt told me I would not have trouble from you, Sir."

"Well, he told me," Lucius began, "that I would be working exclusively with you, Miss Granger. That is what I agreed to, that is what I signed up for, and if that is not what is to happen, then I will indeed leave, but you will be the one to go against the expressed wishes of the Minister of Magic. Good luck with your project, for you will need luck without me."

"You will be working with me as well, since I will oversee everything," she said.

"I will only work with you, Miss Granger," he reiterated.

"I will be there frequently," she added.

"You, Miss Granger," he repeated.

"But Mark is project manager," she repeated.

"You," he repeated.

"He is very knowledgeable," she added.

"You," he said with finality.

"He is a pureblood," she finally said.

"You," he said once more.

"Mr. Malfoy, you can't tell me you would rather work with a Mudblood and possibly soil yourself, than with a pureblood," she said half-heartedly.

Mark looked over at her and said, "Don't say that word, Hermione."

Lucius sighed and said, "First, I highly doubt I will 'soil' myself by merely working with you. I don't intend to touch you in any way, shape or form."

She threw her quill across the table. "You will work with whom I want you to work, or go back to prison," she said. "That's the end of it."

"I will work with the person I agreed to work with, or I will go back to prison, and you will find yourself without a dark object expert, and you can kiss your grant money goodbye. Yes, I know about the grant. Take my offer or don't, I don't care. If I am going back to prison, I would prefer to leave now. They serve my favourite gruel at lunchtime."

"Mark, Joy, please wait out in the hall with the Aurors," she said. They both left and Lucius leaned back in his seat to examine his nails.

"What is your ulterior motive, Mr. Mafloy?" she asked.

He really didn't have any, but she didn't need to know that. He just wanted to make her angry. He also didn't really have any sort of arrangement with the Minister regarding whom he would or would not work with. Again, she didn't need to know those particular details. He highly doubted she would check his story.

He didn't know why the thought of causing her discomfort warmed his soul so much, but it did. He had to admit one thing, she was beautiful. She wasn't always beautiful, but she was now, she really was. He had always known she was smart. He had to listen to his son complain about that fact all during their school years. He admired her intellect, but more than that, he admired all she had accomplished, although he would die before admitting as much. He could barely admit it to himself. His body was aware of his admiration, if the bulge in his trousers was any indication. He would chalk it up to too many years in prison, and too many years without female companionship.

He had plenty of witches in his day, and if he had been in his prime, he probably wouldn't have given her another look. He had seen pretty witches all day long, starting with his discharge from prison, (the little medi-witch was quite comely) to his interrogation with stupid Harry Potter, (his partner was a fetching witch, although he suspected she might swing the opposite way.) Yes, he had seen many pretty witches today, some who openly stared at him, some who flaunted their assets his way, but only she caused this distressing reaction of an erection. Curious.

It had been two years since his wife's suicide, and even though he strayed all throughout his marriage, many times, he loved his wife, and she was the only woman he ever really desired. However, she was gone now, and he was alone and a man with needs, and he certainly wouldn't kick the little Mudblood out of his bed if she wanted to join him, which he doubted. It would be nice if she was willing. He wouldn't even have to put a bag over her head, since she was so pretty.

"Mr. Malfoy, are you listening to me?" she asked.

"No, no I wasn't," he said truthfully. "I was actually fantasying about having sex with you."

Her mouth hung open in shock. It was a nice little mouth. He wondered what that little mouth could do. She finally grimaced and said, "You can leave. We don't need your assistance after all."

"You need me and I will refrain from such vulgarities in the future. Please note the fact that I have been in prison for years and I forgot how to speak in front of a woman," he said. That should placate her. When Lucius Malfoy turned on the charm, women couldn't resist.

She stood up, opened the door, and said to the Aurors in the hall, "You may take Mr. Malfoy back to prison. We won't need his services after all."

Lucius stared at her and thought, 'what a little bitch'. He finally said, "I apologize. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

She shut the door, (the Aurors weren't standing right outside anyway, they were down the hall) and she said, "You will not show me disrespect sir, and I will try to extend the same courtesy to you. We will work together until this arrangement is over, and I request, no demand, that you treat me accordingly, or I will not hesitate to have you thrown back in jail. Agreed?"

He stood up. He strolled over to her. "You are a vixen," he said.

She frowned.

"Oh, did I say that out loud? I meant to say, I agree." He held out his hand. She looked at his hand, then at his eyes, and then back to his hand. He rolled his eyes and said, "No manners whatsoever." He reached down for her hand and held it in his. He pumped their joined hands up and down several times. He said, "Do you agree as well?" He pulled her closer to him. She swallowed hard. He grinned. She agreed. He knew she would.


	2. TWO

**TWO –****  
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During the next few days, Hermione and Lucius had gotten into a happy routine with one another. They had been working together for almost a week now, spending a great deal of time in a comfortable silence. Neither needed to speak, but when they did, it wasn't forced or contrived. He would arrive each morning, accompanied by Aurors. They would both eat lunch there. He would leave in the evenings, again, flanked by Aurors. He had mentioned to her that he was under a sort of 'house arrest' at his son's home, but that he very rarely saw Draco, and that was the extent of what he said about his son.

They worked together closely, but not too close. He would tell her about an object, what it did and to whom it had belonged, and she would write down everything he said. He would tell her how to disarm an item if he knew how. Again, she would write down what he said. Occasionally, she would tell him a bit about her childhood, about her former fiancée, but only when he asked her questions.

In turn, he talked a bit about his time in jail, and his wife's death, but again, only to answer questions that she had.

Once in a while, he would make a joke, in that haughty way he had, and she would laugh. Nevertheless, for the most part, they worked in tandem, but in silence. He asked her around day three how she knew he was not lying to her, when he told her about an object. She didn't even look up from her writing when she said, "You gave your word. If you have nothing else, I imagine you still have your honour."

That one statement meant more to him than she could ever realize.

A few times, he found his thoughts would wander to the witch working by his side. Sometimes he would imagine her naked. He found himself having errant thoughts where he would think about making love to her, and he would imagine having her hot little body under his. Whenever one of these thoughts came to him, he would try to avoid her eyes. He did not know if she knew Legilimency or not, but he felt he should ere on the side of caution. He did not want to appear weak to her, and having fantasies of having sex with her was certainly a weakness.

The warehouse where they were working in was off site from the Ministry, and it looked innocuous enough, but it was very well guarded. The amount of dark objects the Ministry had amassed over the years shocked even Lucius. Some he was surprised existed, a few he was surprised were still around, and others he thought of fondly, because they once belonged to either him or his family.

One day, four days in, they were working in their accustomed silence, her handing him objects, him writing about them, handing them back to her, when she pulled a large crate over to the table. She tried to lift it, but it dropped from her fingers. He rolled his eyes, stood up and walked over to her, and said, "Are you a witch or a Muggle? If something is too heavy, use your wand, woman."

She put her hands on her hips and said, "Well, you could just be a gentleman and lift it for me, or is chivalry dead?"

"I thought you modern witches hated chivalry," he mocked.

"Don't lump me in with your archaic notions of a modern witch. I don't mind men lifting boxes, killing spiders, or opening car doors. I think it's more something people do for others because they're nice."

"Ugh," he mocked, "Nice, that is a four letter word I cannot abide," he said. However, he bent down, lifted the box, and put it on the table.

"Thank you," she said.

He just realized that they were completely alone today. This was the first time one of her staff members had not come in for one reason or another. It appeared they were each incompetent, and could not make one decision without her. He wondered if she made enough money, for all the trouble she undertook.

"Where is your staff today?" he asked.

"Well, since its Friday, I let them all off after lunch. Mark's getting married on Saturday, and the whole staff is either in the wedding, or invited, so I let them have a long weekend," she said with a shrug.

"Are you invited?" he asked.

She looked at him confused and said, "Well, yes."

"Are you going?" he asked.

"Why do you care?" she asked back.

"I don't," he said truthfully, "But I just think that a young person such as you should live a little. If you spend too much time with old books and old men, you will die an old maid."

"First, you're not that old," she said. He smiled at that. "Second, I guess I will be an old maid, then, because I'm not going to the wedding."

He smiled and leaned back in his chair and said, "I see. You were invited, but you are not going to attend, and you don't want to tell me why. I hope you at least had the manners to send back your RSVP."

"Who are you, my father?" she asked.

"Heaven help me if that were true," he said. "I just wondered."

"Well, I don't need etiquette lessons from you. I was invited, but I'm not attending, case closed," she said.

"Are you sad because you are alone?" he asked with a half smile.

She glared at him. He actually wasn't half off the mark. What would he say if he knew she still slept with Allen's pillow each night, long ways on the bed, clutching it as if it were his body, with the same pillowcase that it had on it from before he died? He would really think she was pitiful.

He thought she looked sad and alone, and when she did not answer his question, he said, "Ah, chin up, Miss Granger. Here, come to Poppa, and I will make you happy." She laughed. He said, "See, I knew I would make you happy."

"The thought of you calling yourself 'poppa' made me laugh, that's all. I certainly do not think of you as a father figure," she said.

"Thank goodness," he retorted. He went back to writing on a piece of parchment. She stared at him a bit longer, and then went back to her work as well. After a while, he looked back up to her and said, "Did the invitation say to Miss Hermione Granger and guest?"

She looked up at him and said, "Pardon?"

"The wedding invitation, did it say to Miss Hermione Granger and guest?" he asked.

"Are we still talking about that?" she asked. She slammed her hand on the table. He liked to get her dander up. She said, "Yes, it said that, okay?"

"And you have no young man you can invite to the wedding?" he inquired.

She looked at him once more and said, "For goodness sakes!"

"That's sad. I feel bad for you," he said.

"I agree, it is very sad," she said sarcastically. Then she said softly, "It is sad."

"You won't find the love of your life with your nose in a book and ink on your fingers," he said. He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. He rubbed at the ink on her thumb. His touch sent chills throughout her body. He looked back up in her eyes, and she seemed dazed and confused.

She drew her hand from his and said, "I already found the love of my life."

He interrupted and said, "I'm flattered."

"I meant my former fiancé, Allen, and he's gone now. I told you about that, and sometimes one chance at happiness is all a person gets, okay? Can we stop talking about my love life now?"

He took the quill from her other hand, and turned it so the feather side rested against her cheek. He drew it softly down her cheek and said, "If you keep yourself blind to what is out there, you really will end up sad and alone." He dropped the quill to the table.

The truth was, she was beginning to find him attractive, and that made her mentally cringe. When did that happen? She had always been a bit terrified of him, and she had never found him attractive before, so why now?

She stood up and started to rummage through the box, placing items here and there, when he said, "Everything in that box was taken from the Manor." He went over to the box to help her sort the items. He held up a mirror and said, "This is a nice little item. If a vain person looks in it, the thing they are most vain about will become grotesque or obsolete."

"So, if you look in it, you would go bald?" she said with a laugh and a snort.

"I am not vain about my hair," he said. "I cannot help it if it is pretty."

She laughed again. She held up a small snuffbox. "What is this item's intended use?"

"Open it and find out," he laughed.

"I don't think so," she said. He took it from her fingers, the tips of his fingers touching hers lightly, and he opened it.

He handed it to her. "It's just a snuffbox. It is a small ornamental box for powdered tobacco. If the stupid Ministry thought they had a find there, they were wrong."

She smiled and took it back from him. He smiled as well. This was the most interaction they have had since he started working with her. He liked it. He held up a silver spoon. He said, "Now, this one is good. Everything you eat from it tastes like your favourite dish."

"How is that a dark object?" she asked.

"It isn't, it's just decadent," he said with a smile.

She held up a small, red, globe, more like a sphere, which rested on a black wooden base. It appeared to be made of glass, and the inside looked as if it contained red liquid.

"What is this?" she asked.

"The death teller," he said nonchalantly.

"Death teller?" she asked.

"Yes, it reveals how a person will die. You put it between your hands, say an incantation, and it reveals how you will die."

"That's morbid. Why would someone want to know how they will die?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"Can you change the course or outcome of what you see? For instance, if you see you will be hit by a bus tomorrow, could you stay in bed all day, and avoid death?" she asked.

"A bus?" he asked. He shook his head. "A bus, so Muggle, I swear," he said. "No, it is absolute. It is always 100 percent accurate. Whatever it shows you is the course of things. I have seen men try to change what they have seen, yet death still comes in whatever form the death teller foretold."

"Can it only tell of the death of the person holding it, or someone else's death as well?" she asked.

"Well, if you held it first, and I placed my hands on top of yours, even if you were not the one to say the incantation, your death is the one that would be revealed, and it would be revealed to both of us," he explained. "It can be quite useful when used that way. It was always good to use during interrogations and such."

"I still think it's morbid. We should destroy it," she said.

"Here, give it to me," he said, holding out his hand.

"No, you might try to say the incantation and make me see my own death, so I say, get it yourself," she said. She placed it back on the table.

"You don't trust me? I am wounded," he said. "You might see me killing you in there, is that it?" he goaded.

She looked confused and said, "Do you want to kill me?" She picked it back up cautiously.

"Not at the moment," he said truthfully.

"Still, I think it is an awful item." She placed it gently back on the table.

He lied to her. It was a death teller, and it did foretell how a person would die, but it was not absolute. A person could change the outcome. He had seen his own death in the Battle of Hogwarts, and so he changed alliances at the last moment, unbeknownst to anyone but his wife and son, and therefore, he changed the course of the future. He lived. He did not die in the battle. He only wished the Ministry had not confiscated the item. If it had still been in his family's possession, perhaps his wife would have seen her own suicide, and changed the outcome somehow.

He looked over at Hermione and smiled. He thought he would have a bit of fun with the little uptight witch. He told her, "Hand the death teller to me, and I will put it back away, safely."

She picked it back up, hesitantly, and when she held it in her hands, he suddenly placed his hands on top of hers and said the incantation. Before she knew what happened, images of her death came to her, and likewise, to him. She saw a knife slashing down on her, and blood, so much blood. She heard herself scream, and most disturbing of all, she saw Lucius Malfoy's cane on the floor, and she saw this entire episode take place in the very room she was in right now. She saw her body drop to the floor, blood pumping quickly out of her body, and she saw a person hooded in black run from the room, and Lucius Malfoy running toward her.

As if in slow motion, he let go of her hands, she let go of the red globe, and it dropped to the floor and rolled by his foot. She started to shake and perspire. She dropped to the floor, in a seated position, by his feet. Her breathing became ragged, and sobs started to rack her body. He looked at her with concern. He reached down to help her up, but she pushed his hands away. Before he could tell her not to fear, she stood, grabbed her purse, ran from the building, and disapparated home.

Around seven o'clock in the evening, there was a knock on Hermione's door. She wasn't expecting anyone. Who could it be? She had called Harry, to tell him she needed to speak to him, but he wasn't home and so she had to leave a message. Maybe he arrived home early. It was probably him. She went to the door, opened it, and was shocked at who was outside.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," the last man she ever expected to grace her doorstep, said.

"Mr. Malfoy?" she asked.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Why are you here? How are you here? How did you find my house? Wait, I put up extra wards tonight. How did you get past my wards? Aren't you under house arrest?"

He frowned. "Too many questions," he said. He looked her up and down, pointed at her attire, and asked, "What are those?"

"Pajamas," she said. She had on a red cotton camisole, and red and pink stripped cotton shorts.

"What are pajamas?" he asked.

"Are you serious? You sleep in them," she said.

"You mean nightclothes?" he asked. He knew what pajamas were. He had just never seen any that looked like that.

"Well, yes," she said. "Also known as pajamas. Didn't your wife wear pajamas to bed?"

"She wore a nightgown, sometimes a negligee or dressing gown, and once in a while a peignoir set."

"Well, I wear these," she said.

He thought she looked nice in her little pajamas. The shirt, if that was what it was, was tight across her breasts, and he could see the outline of her nipples. The bottoms showed plenty of long, brown, leg and hung low on her hips. He could see a small space of skin between the two. He liked how she looked in her pajamas. He would like how she looked out of them even better.

"Why are you wearing pajamas?" he asked.

"I'm ready for bed," she answered.

"BED?" he inquired. "Odd, its only seven pm. Are you ill?" he asked. He stepped in her house and she was forced to move aside for him. He put his hand on her forehead. "You don't seem to have a fever, but your nose is all red and your eyes puffy. You look ill."

"I've been crying," she explained, although she wasn't sure why she bothered.

"Why?" He acted naïve, although he knew the answer to that question. He walked into her living room and sat down on the couch.

"Blood, knife, pain, death, remember?" she said. "I saw my death tonight and it didn't seem very pleasant, and you said there's no way to escape it, so yes, I might have been crying a bit."

"That's no reason to cry," he said. He thought that was a perfect reason to cry. He felt a small, miniscule, amount of guilt for causing her distress. That was why he was there, to remedy her pain. He was also there for self-preservation. If she mentioned to anyone at the Ministry, especially Harry Potter, that he used such a dark object on her earlier, he would not only go back to prison, but he would face new charges. He had to make sure that didn't happen, one way or another.

She sighed and sat down beside him. This promised to be a long night.


	3. THREE

**THREE** –

She crossed her legs, and her foot bobbed at an alarming speed up and down. "Is there some reason why you are so agitated?" he asked.

"I am going to die, very soon, and apparently quite painfully, and you somehow got past my wards. Also, you're supposed to be under house arrest," she said.

"Does that mean you're upset that I'm here?" he asked.

"It means I wonder WHY you are here," she said.

"As hard as it is for me to tell the truth, I will try," he said. She turned to face him, extremely interested all of the sudden. "I lied to you when I said you could not change the outcome of the death teller. I myself have robbed death of my company, by changing what I foresaw there. You can change it. It is hard, but it can be done. It will be especially difficult since you did not see who killed you."

"This is bizarre," she said, "talking about my own murder, but that aside, why lie to me? Did it make you happy to upset me? Did you get pleasure from my pain?" She suddenly stood up. "You are twisted and perverted!"

"While that is true, it has nothing to do with anything," he said. "Listen," he added, also standing, "the truth is if the Ministry or Potter knew I used a dark object on the world's most famous Mudblood, I would undoubtedly go back to prison. Since I want to avoid that, I wish to offer my protection to help you avoid death. Tit for tat. It also helps that I find myself somehow drawn to you, more and more each day."

She glared at him and asked, "Drawn to me how?"

"You are an intelligent person, think about it," he drawled. He sat back down on the couch and said, "I figure I am going to have to save your life, whether I want to or not, and whether you want me to or not. As far as your wards go, I was a Death Eater and a powerful wizard at one time. Your little wards meant nothing, just as my house arrest means nothing. The trace the Ministry put on me was easy enough to lift."

"I have to tell the Aurors. I have to tell Harry," she said. He stood back up and pulled on her wrist. He pulled her close to him, which thrilled and scared her all at once.

"I just proved to you that I am capable of many things. Do you not think me capable of protecting one little Muggle-born?" he asked. His breathing was shallow, as he stared down at her. Out of instinct, she placed her free hand on his chest, to push him away, even as he held her other hand captive.

She continued to push on his chest and said, "What's in it for you?"

"Self preservation," he said. "I won't go back to prison. I should never have used the damn thing on you, but seriously, isn't it better to know these things, so we can stop it."

"Harry can stop it," she argued. He took his free hand and pulled on the back of her hair, causing her head to tilt upwards. The action also caused her back instinctively to arch, so that her breasts, soft yet firm, were pressed against his chest. The cruel action shocked her.

He looked down at her and said, "You cannot tell him. I won't let anyone hurt you, I promise, but you cannot tell Potter. I won't go back to prison. I can't."

"You're too close," she said suddenly. He relaxed the hand in her hair, and moved it so that it rested on her back, under her hair, which pushed her even closer. He released her wrist and brought his other hand to her arm.

"I am too close?" he repeated.

"You are pretty close," she said, stumbling over her words.

"And you are just pretty," he said. She intoxicated him. "You should marry a pureblood you know."

"I will never marry," she said.

"Fine," he said. "It was just an errant thought. You need someone your intellectual match, that's all I meant." He could feel the hardness of her nipples rubbing against the cotton of her top, and rubbing against the front of his robes. His right hand went to her face, and he drew it down her face to her neck. "I promise to protect you," he said. His lips were so close; she could feel his breath upon her face.

"Why did you use that damn thing on me in the first place?" she asked.

He stroked her face again and said, "How was I to know you weren't going to die a 90 year old virgin."

"I'm not a virgin," she said.

"I have no proof of that," he said with a leer.

"You will have to take my word for it," she said. He smiled. His smile both scared and excited her.

The position he had her in, pressed up against his chest, her head tilted up to look at him, since he was so much taller, brought her lips dangerously close to his. He wanted to rip that little red shirt right over her head. He found he once again had an erection; rock hard, under his robes. He wondered if she felt it against her hip. Perhaps if he moved her, she might. He moved her body slightly to the left, and her eyes widened. He wanted to laugh, because he knew she felt what he wanted her to feel.

They stood pressed together for a ridiculously long time. Hermione began to wonder what it would feel like to run her hands over his body, for her mouth to explore the hollow of his throat. He was still a man in his prime, a fascinating human being. What would it feel like to have him inside her?

"You know that I am very accomplished at Legilimency, don't you?" he asked. She lowered her eyes. She pushed against his body. "No, I didn't use Legilimency on you just now, but you must have been thinking wicked thoughts, for your face is as red as that little top you have on, and you look suddenly guilty." He laughed and let her go.

She moved to the other side of the room and said, "You should know guilt when you see it."

"You're right, I do," he said. "Do we have a deal?"

"How do we even know you can stop my death?" she asked.

"Trust me," he said. "I won't leave your side. I will even go to that little wedding with you tomorrow. Wouldn't that be the talk of the Ministry? I could get special permission," he said.

"I should say no," she said. The problem was she didn't want to say no. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to get to know him better, she even wanted to spend time with him, she just wanted…him. She turned around and she didn't even feel him come up behind her. She didn't know he was there until his arm wrapped around her waist, sending a pool of liquid heat to her core. She took several deep breaths as he spoke in her ear.

"You should say no, but you want to say yes. You want to say yes to many things, but you feel conflicted, and confined to your straight-laced moral code," he urged. He leaned his face against hers. He looked down, and saw her ample cleavage. The fabric on the shirt was so tight across her chest that he could see the circles and dimples of her areolas. He also saw the distinct peaks on top. He moved his hand so it was now resting on the bare skin he admired earlier, between the little top and the little shorts. He wondered what she wore under the little shorts.

"How many men have you been with?" he asked huskily in her ear.

"Why is that relevant?" she asked. She wanted to melt. His hand on her stomach was touching bare skin, and the other hand was moving lightly up and down her arm. His chest was so strong up against her back. She felt his erection on her bum, and his scent was the most intoxicating male scent she had ever experienced. This was wrong, so very wrong, but for once, she didn't care. Had he used more dark magic on her than she was aware of, or was this just what she needed?

"I know you. You aren't the type to sleep with every man you meet. That excites me more than you will know," he whispered. His tongue came out and rimmed her ear.

"I'm not sleeping with you. If I agree to this, I am only agreeing to your protection, not to be your bed partner," she said. However, her head lolled to the side, and she looked up in his eyes. His eyes were dark and foreboding. She should be afraid.

Suddenly, she felt his lips on her neck, soft kisses caressing her sensitive skin, and she closed her eyes. "I beg to differ. I bet even money you will sleep with me, and you will enjoy it," he finally said, then he went back to kissing her neck.

She shivered as desire awoke in her soul. What would happen if she gave into this feeling? Would her world crash and burn? Hell, she was probably going to die soon anyway, so where would be the harm if she just kissed him. Just a kiss. It would only be a kiss.

He took her arm and began to place kisses up and down the velvety softness of her skin across her arm. His lips were full and demanding, and her heart began to race. He hissed, he wanted her so badly, and he moved his mouth back to her neck, and sucked on it slowly, intimately. Her nipples hardened more, and liquid heat now sent a fire throughout her entire nervous system. She actually had an ache down below, which she had never experienced before. Yes, this had to be dark magic.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, turning her around to face him. She merely nodded yes. She hadn't been with a man since Allen died, and even before then, she had only ever been with a couple. She felt inexperienced and awkward next to this man, this Greek god, this pure sexual being. "I promise not to hurt you. You told me that I still had my honour, and I do. I would never do anything to hurt you, and I would never do anything to you that you don't want to do."

He brought her wrist up to his mouth and kissed it again. He felt her pulse on his tongue, as he licked the pounding flesh. She put her hands on his chest, and grabbed at the material of his robe. He said, "Let's just get rid of this," and he slipped the robe off his shoulders, revealing a black pair of trousers and a black silk shirt.

She wanted to feel skin next to skin, so with some hesitation, she started to unbutton his shirt. She was nervous and her fingers shook. He put his hands over hers, kissed them both lightly, and said, "Let me." He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the floor.

He still had a well-defined chest, and long, lean muscles. He had the body of a man half his age. She knew it was rude to stare, but stare she did. He pulled her to him and kissed his way back up her arm, sending shivers down her spine. He kissed her collarbone and her neck. Why had he not kissed her lips yet?

"Does the thought of kissing my mouth repulse you?" she asked.

He threw his head back and laughed. "You are the silliest thing. I am just saving the best for last. It's called making love, my dear, and it's not a race. It is meant to linger, meander, and take time. I think I just answered my question from earlier. You are not very experienced are you?"

She bit her bottom lip and stepped away from him. "This is not going to happen." She ran upstairs, to her bedroom, and locked the door.

She threw herself on her bed, covered her head with a pillow, and was about to scream when her phone rang. She sat up, reached for the phone next to her bed, put it up to her ear, but she didn't answer, because she was too shocked. Lucius had answered the phone downstairs.

"Granger residence," Lucius said.

"Ah, is, ah, Hermione there?" Harry Potter asked. He wondered who the man was answering her phone. His voice sounded familiar.

Hermione hung up the phone in the bedroom and ran down the stairs.

"She is, I believe, locked in her bedroom, afraid to have sex with me. May I ask who is calling?" he asked.

Hermione lunged for the phone, but Lucius grabbed her around the middle, turned her in his arms, and held tight.

"Who is this?" Harry asked with anger.

"I believe I asked you first," he said coolly.

"Give me the phone!" she hissed.

"Is this Lucius Malfoy?" Harry practically shouted.

"Yes, and you are Harry Potter, now that we know who the other is, may I take a message?" Lucius asked.

Hermione was pulling at his arm, and saying, "Let me go and give me the phone!"

"Where is Hermione?" Harry asked, "And why the hell are you there? You're supposed to be under house arrest!"

"Things change, Potter, and as for Miss Granger, she is wiggling around in my arms as we speak. I will give her the phone," he said. He let her go and held out the phone to her.

She gave him the dirtiest look she could muster and held the mouthpiece of the phone while she said, "You are evil!"

"Its one of my best traits," he said back. He sat down and reached for his shirt.

"Hi, Harry," Hermione said, trying to sound like she had not just almost had sex with Voldemort's former right hand man.

"What the hell is going on, Hermione?" Harry asked. "You call me crying, saying I had to call you, no matter the time of night, and when I do, Lucius is there! And what's this about having sex with him?"

"He's just being an arse, and we're just working at my house this evening. I thought it would be more comfortable," she lied.

From the couch, Lucius said, "And she calls me a liar."

"Hermione!" Harry warned.

"Harry, it's really nothing, and I just called you to see if you wanted to have dinner tomorrow, but now I remember that I'm going to Mark's wedding tomorrow, so I can't have dinner with you. I'm sorry, we'll reschedule, okay, 'bye." She hung up and looked over at Lucius, who was lying on her couch by this time, his hands behind his head, his shirt only buttoned with two buttons, the bulge in his pants still apparent.

She pointed to his pants and said, "Doesn't that ever go away?"

"I know a way to make it go away," he said. He reached for her.

"Why did you answer my phone?" she said. "I wouldn't be surprised if Harry didn't show up here any minute."

"He won't be able to get passed my wards," Lucius said, still reaching for her.

"What wards?" she asked.

"I set new wards before I knocked on your door," he said.

"You don't have a wand!" she said.

"I might, I might not." He smiled. He motioned to her with his hand. "Come on; let's get back to what's important."

"What's important is my staying alive!" she yelped. "But you might want to make sure you stay alive too, and I am this close to killing you," she threatened, bringing her two hands together as an indication.

He shrugged and said, "Fine, I'll sleep on the couch, and you take the bedroom." He closed his eyes.

Suddenly, he opened them when he felt her rush to the couch, throw herself on top of him, and hook one hand behind his head, as the other went to his chest. She kissed him with hunger and fury. No woman had ever kissed him with such need before. He positioned her so she was underneath him on the couch. Her left leg, bent at the knee, was the only part of her not encumbered by his weight.

The feel of his hard body on hers gave her more than comfort, it gave her peace, which worried her slightly, but she had no time to evaluate things as he swirled his tongue inside her mouth, and his hand went underneath her shirt, to rest on one of her breast. She was the instigator, and yet now, she was at a loss. She lay idle, not knowing how to proceed.

He whispered in her ear, "Kiss me, Hermione. Make love to me." The thought that this powerful man wanted her lowered her defenses. He continued to kiss her, more like devour her, barely giving her time to breath. She started to respond in kind, especially when his hands tore her shirt over her head, and his mouth found her breasts.

She whimpered and he continued his pursuits, first one breast, and then the other. He looked up at her, she was barely breathing, and he said, "Shall we take this upstairs?"

Again, she merely nodded.


	4. FOUR

**FOUR –**

He quickly stood up to go upstairs; she remained on the couch. They were both shirtless, and while Lucius seemed proud, as he should be, Hermione sudden brought her hands to her chest. Lucius stared down at her and said, "Why the modesty? I have already kissed your breasts and now suddenly, you don't want me to see them?"

She felt such recklessness, and even more odd, safeness with him, than she had ever felt before. She stood up and slowly placed her arms at her sides. She bit her lip and then said, "Why do you want me?"

He let out a chuckle and said, "You are a beautiful woman. I have been without a woman for so long."

"So it's because I'm convenient and the only woman at your disposal?" She bent down and picked up her top. She started to put it on, but he grabbed it out of her hands. He threw it across the room.

"That question insults us both, Hermione," he said with a seriousness that she had yet to see. He almost seemed angry. He reached for her arm, but she pulled back.

"Having sex won't save my life," she said. She walked around him, picked up her shirt, and slipped it on her body.

"Making love might not save your life, but it might make you live again," he said lightly.

She turned to face him and said, "Having sex won't make me not afraid."

"Making love might give you the comfort that you need and seek." He reached out and grabbed her arm. He pulled her to him.

"Having sex will complicate things," she said, "and my life is complicated enough."

"Making love will give your life purpose," he said. He pulled her willingly against his rock hard body.

"Having sex," she said simply.

"Making love," he said back.

"You have to be in love to make love," she said.

"No, you have to show love to make love, and you have to care about the other person," he said.

"You don't care about me. You just want to make sure you don't go back to prison," she accused. She placed her head against his chest. She said softly, "I won't tell anyone about the death teller, so you don't have to use sex to keep me quiet."

He reached down and put his hand on her chin. He forced her head up, so she stared in his eyes. "Tell whomever you want, because that has nothing to do with this. I want to make love to you because I want you. My offer to protect you was the one that was made out of desperation not to go back to prison. The offer that is before you now, to ravish every part of your body, and have you beg for more, wasn't part of that bargain."

He bent his head and licked her earlobe. He pulled on the tender flesh there with his teeth and then said in her ear, "Making love would be a purely selfish thing. It is something I want, and that is as complex as it gets. I want to make love to you more than I thought possible."

Hermione gasped audibly as desire filled her being. She couldn't remember a time when a man had wanted her as much as Lucius seemed to want her. That triggered a passionate need deep inside her soul.

He claimed her mouth again, burning her with his need. His tongue danced wildly with hers, enticing her with its scandalous imitation of what they both needed, what they both wanted, and what they both would have.

Her hands went to his shoulders and he picked her up in his arms. She said, "I know how to walk."

He was surprisingly strong. He ignored her comment and asked, "Where is your bedroom?"

For the third time that evening, she found herself temporarily mute, so she merely pointed up the stairs. There were only three bedrooms up there, and only two had beds, so she was sure he could find it himself. He walked up the stairs and then down the hall to the correct room and placed her feet on the floor.

He reached down, removed her top again, and looked at her breasts closely this time. Almost as if he were a man at worship, he sank to his knees and put both perfect, rounded globes, in his hands. He even said, "Perfect." He fondled her breasts, and she put her head back and moaned. She placed her hands in his hair. He buried his face in her cleavage, and laved his tongue over one and then the other.

She slid her hands to his shoulders, and then his bare back. His mouth moved from her breasts to her stomach. He hooked his thumbs in her pajama bottoms, and before she knew it, he pulled them down, leaving her in her knickers. He kissed near the elastic top of the knickers, and she brought one of her hands up to her mouth, to cover its escaping scream. He looked up at her and stood so suddenly that she took a step back. He pushed her with one hand, which would have shocked her, if she hadn't been backed against the bed.

"That's better," he said as she lay back on the bed. He removed the rest of his clothing. She reached down to remove her underwear, but Lucius said, "Not yet. That's my final reward. If I can make you moan my name, then I get that as my prize. Agreed?"

She could not voice her agreement.

She offered herself to him as she had never offered anything to anyone in her life. Here was this man, this former Death Eater, who was more than twice her age, and she was offering herself to him freely. Would he accept? Was he sincere?

He climbed on the bed, slowly moving up her body. He left a trace of kisses up her calf, over her knee, on her thigh, to her pelvic bone. He gripped her waist as his mouth kissed her hip and across the curve of her stomach. He positioned his hands on her breasts, cupping them lightly.

He tenderly kissed the right breast, around the areole, and then he placed her nipple in his mouth. He sucked as his tongue twirled. She began to moan low in the back of her throat and her hips began to undulate. Hermione put her hands on his head, pulling his face up to hers. "Help me," she implored. He knew she was asking for more than help with her sexual release. He leaned down and kissed her mouth, extended and sensual, while his need pressed on her abdomen.

His mouth traveled down her neck to her collarbone. His hands went to hers, placing them above her head, trapping them on the pillow with one hand, his other went back to one of her breasts. His mouth went to the other. He was so full of desire. He looked at her and asked, "Are you sure about this?"

"No, I'm really not," she said. Her brain was working overtime; he knew that. However, her hands were busy as well. She reached down and fondled his full length. Just the though of those delicate hands on him, made him throw his head back and grind his teeth.

It was as if she were an artist and he her sculpture. He fell on his back as she bent over him, phantom caresses roaming over his chest, his hips, and his groin. Her hands were devices of torture, as she traced his length with a slow deliberate touch. She circled his shaft, and grazed the sensitive tip with the tips of her fingers. He was scared of the way he felt at that moment. If she stopped, he might die, or offer her the world. He wasn't sure which was worse.

Raw, unadulterated pleasure shot through his body, to his spine, and to every nerve ending. Her hands made their way back to his face, and she whispered against his cheek, "I don't know how to do this. I have only ever had sex with someone I've loved."

"As much as it would kill me, if you can't proceed, tell me now. I can't go much longer without completion." She ran from the room, to the attached bathroom, shut the door, and sat on the commode and cried. He didn't expect that!

He stayed on the bed, and cursed the day he met Hermione Granger.

When his faculties returned, and his erection eased somewhat, he climbed from her bed. He put his slacks on and leaned against the door to her bathroom. He could hear her crying. He could never tolerate a crying female. Even if she had seen her death, was that any reason to cry?

"Why are you crying?" he inquired through the door.

"I'm confused," she said.

He rolled his eyes. "Well stop it right now." There, that should work. Why was she still crying? It wasn't as if she was dying tonight, was she?

She opened the bathroom door, a robe around her body. She said, "Of course, you tell me to stop crying, and so that means I should stop. Never mind that I saw myself die a horrible death." She walked over and sat on the bed. "Never mind that I feel like I am betraying my dead fiancé. Never mind that you are who you are and I am who I am," she said, barely able to speak.

He sighed. He sat beside her. "Let us just get some sleep tonight. No one is going to kill you this weekend, right? I mean, we saw it take place at the warehouse, and you have no intentions of going to the warehouse this weekend, correct. So, let's get some sleep, so you'll look presentable tomorrow for the wedding."

"Just sleep?" she asked.

"I suppose," he said sardonically. He stood to leave and she took his hand. He glared at her and said, "You should let go of my hand, or I swear I will ravish you raw."

She let his hand drop and fell on her back on the bed. She turned to her side, facing away from him. He started to leave the room, but turned back. Instead of leaving, he leaned against the doorframe. He watched her as she had her back to him. Her long tanned legs were bent at the knees, and entwined together. The curve of her waist and the rise of her hip caused his erection to flair up again. Her hair was long and fanned out across the pillow. He walked back over to her bed and said, "I don't hate you." He could hardly tell her he loved her, because that would have been a lie, so this was the next best thing.

She looked over her shoulder and said, "Good to know that the man who is my reluctant protector, and almost my lover, doesn't hate me." She turned back toward the wall. He sat down next to her body. His hand slid over her shoulder, across the smooth silk of her robe.

He said, "Tell me about this man you loved."

And so she did.

They talked well into the night. He ended up lying next to her as she told him all about Allen. He told her about his wife. The even laughed a bit, and she cried some more. He had never shared this type of closeness with another human being, let alone a woman. He had never even talked liked this with his wife, and yet, here he was with this little Muggle-born, and he was entranced, enthralled, and entertained by her.

The night loomed over them, and before they knew it, it was dawn. They had talked all night. They didn't waste one moment on silence, and somehow, he had her in his arms. She had her head on his chest as he stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. He felt as if this always was and always would be.

She looked up at him and said, "Do you really mean to go to the wedding with me?"

"Of course," he said.

"You know you will have to wear a Muggle suit, don't you? There will be some Muggles there, because Mark's bride is a Muggle-born, like me. Isn't that scandalous? A pureblood marrying a Muggle-born?" she said with a slight smile. She raised her head to look at him.

"I've heard of worse things," he said. In a move that surprised them both, she leaned forward and kissed his lips. She seemed embarrassed by the action, so she tucked her head in his chest.

He pushed her off his chest, leaned over her, and he put his mouth back on hers, playing with her lips, teasing them, letting his tongue entwined with hers. His hands went to her neck and he moved to his side. He placed one leg slightly between her legs. He moved her robe aside, pulling at the tie around the waist. It fell open with ease. As he hoped, she wore nothing underneath. Propped up on his side, his hand went to the junction between her legs. He placed his hand there, as if it were a gift for him to discover, he moved his hand back and forth, softly with long strokes. He continued to kiss her face, all around, as he sunk one finger in her cleft. She moaned and shuddered. Even though it had just begun, they were both already close. It was as if the entire night of talking was their foreplay, and now they were ready for their release.

Moving down her body, he removed his hand, and substituted it with his mouth. Her hands went to his shoulders, steering him, urging him to continue, and who was he to go against her direct wishes? His tongue simulated the strokes that his hands had just performed. She was moving her head back and forth and whimpering. He removed his mouth, and kissed up her body, once more ravishing her breasts, his hand once more between her legs. When his mouth reached her mouth, he kissed her, not just a kiss, but also a yearning, a question, and a promise. He placed his body on top of hers, entering her slowly, but with anticipation.

Lucius moved his body, arched his back, and rolled his hips, stroking her up and down. His face twisted in fervor, and when he glanced down at her, she had the look of a woman who needed more than sexual release. She needed love. She needed protection. She needed fellowship and friendship. She needed someone like him. He just decided that. He shut his eyes again, and with a mutual commitment to each other, a combined effort, and a choreographed act of rising and falling, she began to spasm, and just knowing she was so close brought him close to his climax.

He was deep inside her, satisfying her, and he knew it was just a matter of time. She cried out and so did he. At the most pivotal moment, she placed her legs around the back of his thighs, trying desperately to be closer. He moaned once more, at the exact moment she did, and then that was it, for it was over. It felt right. He collapsed on the bed next to her, as she laid in the wake of her orgasm. Each nerve ending of her body was aware of each nerve ending in his.

Finally, after moments of pure ecstasy, she said, "So will you wear a Muggle suit to the wedding, or not?"

He propped up on his side to look at her, incredulously, and he said, "Merlin woman, let me have a moment, won't you?"


	5. FIVE

**FIVE -**

"Stop tugging at your dress, you look fine," Lucius told Hermione.

"I'm hanging out in the front," she said.

He looked over at her. She was showing ample cleavage, but he did not think she looked cheap or garish. He thought she looked very nice, sexy even. "You are just too modest," he remarked.

Her hand went up to the bodice again, and he swatted it away. She turned to give him a stern look, but she softened her stare when she thought of how nice he looked. He even wore a Muggle suit, and it looked very good on him.

They had both fallen asleep that morning, after their "moment". Hermione refused to acknowledge it for what it was. She would not even think the words "making love", or "sex", so for her own peace of mind, it now and forever would be called, "their moment". Since it was after dawn before they even had "their moment", they didn't wake up until after 11:00 am. The wedding was at one o'clock, so Hermione dashed out of bed, after unwinding herself from his embrace, and slammed the bathroom door, to wake him up.

Unbeknownst to her, he woke up about ten minutes before she did. He was staring at her when she woke up, so he shut his eyes again, and wrapped his arms around her tighter. While she was in the shower, he decided to go back to Draco's, clean up, and try to transfigure a dress robe into a Muggle suit.

When she exited the shower, she threw a towel around her and opened the bathroom door, to let the steam escape. While standing in only a towel, she looked in her mirror, saw his reflection behind her, and scream!

"ARRGHH!" she screamed. "You scared me!"

"I like hearing you scream," he said. "As I recall, you screamed several times earlier this morning, but not because you were scared."

She smiled and said, "You don't know that. You might have scared me this morning."

"Oh, I know those screams this morning were passion riddled, not laced with fear. I love to hear your screams of ecstasy," he said. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her shoulder. "You are still wet."

"I haven't dried off yet," she said.

"That's not what I meant," he said with a crooked smile. She met his gaze in the mirror again, and gave him a reproachful look. "Fine, Miss Prude doesn't like suggestive talk."

She pulled out of his arms and went toward her closet. She removed a rose coloured dress. He took it from her hands and pulled out a silver dress.

"No, that dress is tight on me, and besides, it is too fancy for a daytime wedding," she said. She put it back on the rod, took the other dress back from the rod, and started to walk away.

He pulled it from her again and said, "Wear the other one. It will match my suit, which by the way, I am more than hurt that you have not yet told me how handsome I look."

She took a step back, looked at him closely, and said, "You look very dashing, very handsome." She meant it, he did. He had on a dark gray suit, with a silver tie; his hair was pulled back and tied with a dark ribbon. She said, "You look prettier than I will."

"Then you better go get dressed, put on some make up and perhaps do something with that hair," he said.

She took the rose coloured dress and headed to the bathroom. When she finally came out, she looked pretty, very pretty. He smiled at her. She went up to her dresser, looked in the mirror, and started to put on some diamond earrings. He walked up behind her, reached in front of her and placed a diamond necklace around her throat. She dropped her earring, her hand went up to the necklace as he clasped the chain in front of her, and then adjusted it so the clasp was behind her hair.

Holding the diamond pendant in her hand, she said, "Why are you giving me this?"

His hand came around to her chest, removed her hand, and touched the pendent lightly before he let it drop on her breasts. He said, "I am giving you that because of what we shared this morning."

She turned quickly, and he was so close, that she was up against his chest. She asked harshly, "For what, payment for services rendered?"

He glowered down at her and said, "If that were the case, you should be paying me." She reached behind her hair to unclasp the necklace. He put his hands on top of hers and brought them around in front of her. "Keep it on, Hermione. It is pretty, it is a present, and it means nothing more than that. If you want to give it back to me after the wedding, you may." He walked out of the room. She turned around and looked back at the necklace. It was exquisite, but she did not feel right keeping it. She would return it after the wedding.

She grabbed her purse and her wand off the hallway table, and pranced down the stairs, where he was waiting. On her way down the stairs she asked, "Did you get permission from the Ministry to come today, because you know there will be many Ministry employees present."

"Of course I did; would I want you to get in trouble?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

"I'm not sure that's an answer," she said.

"My, but you are a wiry one. No one will care that I am there, rest assured. Now, take my hand and I will disapparate us there," he said, holding out his hand.

"No," she said. "You don't have a wand, so how can you apparate, and also, the wedding is being held at a Muggle church, so I'll drive."

He looked at her as if she had two heads. "Drive?" he asked.

They now sat in the church, where the wedding was in full swing. She was very nervous. She was still fussing with her dress. The reason was that she had to change at the last minute, because as they were walking out her back door, somehow a planter that was hanging on her porch tipped over and spilled dirt all over her rose coloured dress. She had no choice but to put on the silver, tight, low-cut dress. She was going to search him for a wand, convinced that the 'planter incident' was no accident, but she didn't have time. They arrived late as it was. They snuck in the back, noticed by almost no one. She was thankful for that, because the truth was she was slightly unhinged at the thought of being there with him, and she wondered what everyone would think when they saw them together.

Her silver dress showed too much cleavage and too much leg. She tugged at it once more He reached over, and in an act, which seemed too familiar, reached for her hand, brushing the side of her dress. Then, he had the gall to hold her hand the rest of the ceremony. She might have liked it, if she hadn't been worried about her breasts popping out of her dress.

When they walked the receiving line, after the ceremony, they garnered a few strange looks. When they went outside to throw rice, they acquire a few more. Hermione felt too self-conscious even to think about going to the reception.

After most of the guests left the church, she said, "We should get home. The reception is just a buffet style, so it isn't that important that we go."

"I think it would be rude not to go, and I am starving," he said.

They drove to the hotel, and instead of using the valet parking, Hermione parked across the street, in a public parking lot. Lucius said, "If you can't afford the valet, I will pay it."

"This is fine," she said, as she exited her car.

They walked in the hotel, and headed toward the banquet room. There was a large table inside the door with all of the gifts. Hermione placed her gift to them on the table.

He leaned over and said, "What did you get them?"

"Two sets of towels," she said.

"You are so droll, really what did you get them?" he asked.

She looked up at him and said, "Two sets of towels. I got them a full set each. Hand towel, washcloth, and towel. They are very nice."

"How common," he said. With a mere wave of his hand, the card from her gift traded places with the card from the biggest gift on the table.

She looked shocked, inhaled a deep breath, and said, "You used wandless magic!"

He found it endearing that she was more in awe of the fact that he used wandless magic, than by the fact that he changed the cards. However, he thought it less endearing when she manually changed the cards back. She hit his hand and said, "Behave."

They stood by the gift table for a moment, and Hermione felt as if all eyes were upon them. She turned to Lucius and said, "Let's go. I will fix you some food at home. I'm a good cook."

He liked that she said, 'at home'. He also liked the fact that she was willing to cook for him. He put his hand on the small of her back and ushered her back to the hall. He leaned close to her ear and said, "I expect dessert, my dear."

"Certainly, whatever you want," she said, unaware of his meaning. He smiled again. She was charming.

They walked through the lobby and back across the street to the parking lot. Hermione was almost to her car, when out of nowhere, a large white van careened toward her. Lucius ran forward, and snaked one arm around her waist. They both fell over, rolled several times, and then her head hit the pavement with a resounding thud. Several onlookers screamed as the van drove away, driving over the curb, hitting several cars, before it sped down the road.

Hermione was aware of two things. Lucius Malfoy lying on top of her, and searing pain in her head and back. Lucius sat up and said, "The valet just said he called the Muggle police and an ambulance. I cannot stay here. The Muggle police are bound to be called, and undoubtedly, the Aurors."

She was aware enough to understand what he was telling her. She nodded, said, "Go," and then proceeded to pass out.


	6. SIX

**SIX –****  
**  
Hermione woke up in the Muggle hospital surrounded by police. She recounted her story, the best she could, telling them that 'a friend' pushed her out of the way. They didn't even ask the name of her friend. They said they interviewed all the witnesses. She found it odd that they did not ask her where the man who saved her was. Surely, one of the witnesses had seen Mr. Malfoy save her. Very odd. The doctor ordered x-rays, and then said that besides bruises and lacerations, she was fine and could go home.

That meant two things. Lucius saved her life, and someone still wanted to kill her. Right as she was ready to be discharged, Harry Potter walked in the room, with his partner Jill.

"Harry, what are you doing here?"

"Well, gee, Hermione, don't you think some of the guests at the wedding would notify your best friend?" he asked.

"Are you here as best friend or Auror?" she asked.

"Both," he said.

Hermione knew she should tell Harry about the threat to her life, but she felt she owed Lucius something, even though he didn't stay with her after the accident, but before she could even say a thing he asked, "Why were you at the wedding with Lucius Malfoy?"

"He got permission to come," she started.

"Is that what I asked?" he asked. Hermione looked at his partner, and so did Harry. He said, "Jill, could you leave Hermione and me alone for a moment?" Jill nodded and left. "Now, start talking. Why did he answer your phone the other night? Why did he go to the wedding with you? Is there something going on between you two?"

She stayed quiet. Apparently, for too long because Harry said, "I know about the death teller. I know he stayed the night with you"

"How?" she asked.

Lucius walked in right on cue, and said, "I told him."

She was confused. Why was he here? She said, "I thought you left me." That statement made him upset for some reason. He was going to leave her, he really was, especially as she seemed so understanding, but he promised to protect her, and as she stated before, he was still a man of honor and a man of his word.

"What type of protector would I be if I left you?" he asked. "Besides, according to the little Muggle police, I am some sort of hero."

Harry cleared his throat and said, "I told Mr. Malfoy that now that the Aurors know what's going on, we'll protect you."

"And I told your little friend, Mr. Potter, that one thing had nothing to do with the other. I told him that I told you not to play around with the dangerous death teller, but you just would not listen to me, and you forced me to tell you the incantation, and that against my better judgment, I revealed the incantation to you. You practically forced me to at wand point. I told him that you used it even though I told you not to, and that since it once belonged to me, I felt somewhat responsible. I shall continue to stay with you, if you wish," he said, raising one eyebrow.

Hermione and Harry both stared at him incredulously.

Ah, Hermione understood. He told Harry HIS version of the truth. He told Harry it was she that played around the death teller. Oh well, at least Harry was aware of the threat.

"What he said," she said to Harry.

"You see, Potter. I was shocked, appalled, and dismayed by her lack of judgment, but there you have it. What do you expect from a Muggle-born?" he said.

Harry growled. Hermione actually laughed. She didn't believe he felt that way, but even if he did, she wasn't sure she cared.

"I still think you should have told me. We are still going to protect you, and watch your house, whether you want us to or not," Harry said. He bent down and kissed her head.

"Really, Harry, Lucius is able to protect me. I was so upset last night, after I saw the vicious way I was going to die, and he really helped me," she said. She then looked at Lucius and said, "What I don't understand is how it could have been wrong?"

"It wasn't wrong," Lucius said.

"Well, I wasn't stabbed at the warehouse, I was almost run over by a van, so yes, it was wrong," she said. "At least the threat is over, right?"

Harry looked at her sadly and said, "You don't really believe that do you?"

Then Lucius added, "Something we did last night changed the way the murderer was going to kill you, that's all. That doesn't mean the threat is over. Actually, I looked at it again this morning, and you were due to be hit by the van at the church. That's why I made sure we were late, by making you change your dress."

"How can you see my death? I thought a person could only see their own death?" she asked.

"The death teller already has knowledge of your death. Now, I can see it also. Not just anyone can. It was made with a certain safeguard, that only someone in my family can yield its power."

Again, Harry and Hermione looked at him in shock.

"You stole the death teller from the warehouse?" Harry asked.

"One cannot really steal something that was stolen from them, can they?" he asked.

"You are admitting to theft in front of an Auror, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. He sighed and said, "Hermione, go home, alone." He looked at Lucius and said, "And I will set up a team of Aurors to watch you both around the clock." He stood to leave, but turned back to Lucius. He held out his hand, "the death teller, please."

"It's back at the warehouse. You don't think I would walk around with it in my pocket, do you?" he asked.

Harry sighed one last time and left.

Lucius took the death teller out of his pocket, threw it in the air, caught it, and placed it back in his pocket.

"Do you ever tell the truth?" Hermione asked.

"I lie so often it's hard to tell the truth," he said, "and that is the truth."

"Should we look at it again?" she asked, slightly afraid. "It might show someone killing me between Hospital and home."

"No, you will be safe for the time being," he said. He added, "Get your clothes on and I will take you home." He walked out in the hall, and felt in his pocket for the small red sphere. He had already looked at it again. She would be safe, for now, but not for long. Lucius thought that Potter had better find out who wanted to kill her and why, because protecting Hermione Granger was proving to be a full-time job, but one he found not too terrible after all.

They arrived back at her house and she walked slowly up the front steps to the porch. She said, "Every bone and muscle in my body aches. I need a hot bath." She unlocked her door, and unarmed her wards. He walked in the house first. He told her to stay by the door while he searched the place. When he found it to be clear, he helped her upstairs.

Lucius went to the bathroom to draw her a bath. He felt an odd stirring in his lower abdomen, which had nothing to do with desire. No, he refused to believe it was anything else. Yet, seeing her so beautiful, but broken, produced a feeling in which he was unsure of its meaning. He refused to think it was anything resembling, dare he think it…love. He merely enjoyed her company. He liked her body. He adored her mind. He was fond of the way she bit her bottom lip when she was thinking hard about something. He loved the way her eyes lit up when she discovered something new. Wait, love? He loved something about her. Could this stirring be the beginnings of love? No, of course not. Lucius Malfoy did not now, nor would he ever, love a Mudblood named Hermione Granger.

He dipped his fingers in the hot water. It was ready. He turned off the taps, and went to find her. She was sitting in the exact same position on the end of her bed. "Your bath is ready."

"Okay, thank you," she said in almost a whisper.

He started out the bedroom door, but turned back. He felt he was forever turning back to her. He said, "Do you need help?"

"No."

"The water will get cold if you don't hurry," he said. He felt stupid saying that. The water would not get cold that quickly. He walked back in the room, and in an act that seemed to surprise them both, he pulled her to a standing position, and placed his arms tightly around her. He said, "Would you like a massage before your bath?"

"I don't want to have sex right now. Please understand," she said. She leaned her cheek against his chest, her hands resting on either side. He stroked her back up and down.

"Did I say sex? I said massage. You have a dirty mind. A massage might relax you, and you said every muscle and bone in your body hurt. I promise, it will help," he said.

She looked up in his grey eyes and said, "When did you learn to give a massage?"

"In prison," he said with a smile, so she would know he was joking.

She had to laugh. "I don't think I want to hear that."

"Come on, in the bathroom with you. Get out of those clothes, and come back in here in with nothing on but a robe or a towel. I will have everything set up," he said.

"How? With wandless magic?" she inquired with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Fine, you might as well know that I do have a wand. The Ministry, however, is not aware of this fact," he said.

"You told me you didn't!" she said.

"Once again, I have to remind you, I lie," he said with a shrug.

"You are so underhanded. I swear, I don't trust you one bit," she said, heading toward the bathroom. He thought her words were empty. He knew she trusted him.

He said, "Being underhanded is an art form, which I have perfected. I should not be penalized for that."

She came out to the bedroom, wrapped in her robe. She said, "When will your servitude to me end?"

"When I look back in the death teller, and find that you die a 90 year old virgin," he said.

"I thought we established I was not a virgin. I had sex with you last night, well, this morning, didn't I?" she asked.

"I thought I imagined that," he said with a laugh. "We might have to do it again to refresh my memory." He pointed to the massage table he had just transfigured. He had placed towels on it and had even lit candles. He had massage oils on a chair next to the table.

"Why the candles? Do you expect the electricity to go off or something?" she asked. She was nervous. He could tell. He thought that was endearing, considering he had already seen her completely naked, and had in fact, touched most of her body with either his hands or mouth. He patted the table again.

"I'm not getting any younger," he said.

"I know that for sure," she said.

"That is not funny," he said back. "Your biting wit is no match with mine, so unless you want me to make fun of something about you, I would suggest you shut your mouth, open your robe, and hop up on the table." She opened her robe, but kept it over her body. He said, "Off with the robe and lie on your front."

She obeyed, albeit slowly. She opened the robe, but kept it on while she lied down. Then she slipped it off her shoulders. He took the robe and slipped it down to cover her dimpled backside. He skimmed her back with his fingertips until he reached her hair. He pushed all her hair to one side. He couldn't resist, so he leaned down and kissed her shoulder. He rubbed his hands down her arms, and then brought them up next to her head. She felt more exposed that way. Her nipples started to tingle as his fingers ran up and down her back, skimming the sides of her breasts. He leaned down again and said in her ear, "I will take care of everything."

He took off his jacket and his tie. He pushed the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows. Vanilla scented oil soon coated her skin. His touch was both erotic and forbidden, and her shivers were laced with want. His palms were rough, yet somehow gentle along her skin. Sweeping strokes scanned her back and shoulders. It felt divine. He leaned down and kneaded her legs, one at a time. His chest was pressed against her bum. He removed the robe and then his shirt, so it could be skin on skin.

He was luring her into a false sense of security, she was sure, but she shut her eyes anyway. He smiled when she shut her eyes. Now he would have some fun.

He narrowed his attention to her supple bum. He thought it was a very nice backside, all things considering. He let one hand massage down her back, and then cup one side of her buttocks. The same hand went to her thigh, and then with the upstroke, he let his hand slightly part her legs. He let it slip between her legs.

She gasped. "I don't have pain there."

He chuckled, and said, "Are you sure it doesn't ache, just a bit."

"Maybe a bit," she agreed. His hands came back and with smooth, even, pressure, he rubbed her shoulders and back again. He shifted his weight so he was leaning over her. He brought both hands down once more, on her sides, touching her breasts, her waist, her hips. He turned her over.

She felt terribly exposed, and totally aroused. What was he doing to her? His hands went up her stomach, between her breasts, to her shoulders and then down her arms. He let go of her for a moment, to remove his pants. His erection was an impressive sight. She smiled and said, "Are you going to use that to massage me?"

"If you'd like," he said. He wanted her so badly. Repeatedly, his hands continued to roam her body, legs, arms, breasts, ribs, thighs, and feet. No part was left untouched. His left hand went between her legs, parted her, and two fingers entered her. She arched her back. He varied his strokes inside her, as his other hand stroked outside. She felt aroused, but at ease. The pleasure was palpable. She felt as if her body was weightless. A tingling sensation wafted through each limb, her torso, and even her head. She was on the very edge of the precipice, starting to quake and shiver, and then he stopped.

He leaned over, his hands barely moving, and kissed the nape of her neck. She felt his penis on her leg. He started the massage again. She was about to protest. She was so close! However, this felt nice as well. The oil was now spread evenly over her body, as he twirled his fingers on the peaks of her breast. He leaned down and took one nipple in his mouth, his tongue doing a mini massage, his hand moving between her legs once more. Bliss. It was pure bliss.

She drifted closed to an overwhelming edge, when he stopped again. His own need, still pressed against her side, amplified her want. She opened her eyes and said, "Don't stop again."

"I like it when you plead," he said with a smirk.

"It is an order, not a request," she said back. He threw his head back and laughed.

"The day I take an order from you is the day I stop using magic," he said. However, he would obey, but not because SHE ORDERED, but because it was what he wanted.

He climbed on the table. Hermione was shocked it held both of their weight, but knowing Lucius, he probably used magic to reinforce it. He stroked his chest up her body, to lie fully on top of her. She reached down for his turgid member, caressing it gently. As his need pressed against her, she thought she would die if she lost contact even one more time. He rubbed the outside of his shaft against her, but did not yet enter her. Why was he such a tease? Did he expect her to plead, because she would not do that, no more than he would.

She turned her head to the side and pushed on his chest with her hands. "Enough," she said. "I want to wash this oil off me."

"I say when it is enough," he said.

"Is this about power? Is it?" she asked. She wanted to cry. He tried to kiss her lips, but her head fell to the side again. "Please, let me take my bath."

"I want you, Hermione, is that what you want to hear?" he asked.

She decided to be truthful. "Yes," she said. He kissed her long and full on the mouth. He started to enter her, rocking his hips against hers, taking her to a place she had never been, whispering words she never thought she would hear from him.

He whispered, "I want you." He said, "I need you." He said, "You're so beautiful." He even said, "I'll take care of you." The thing he said that meant the most was, "I won't let anyone take you from me."

Slowly, tenderly, he showed her how much he wanted her. He reached down and lifted her left leg at the knee, so he could position himself deeper. She gasped at the fullness of him, and how much he made her feel cherished, and dare she say, loved.

She started her assent, he came inside her, and it was more than she ever thought it would be, so she cried out, in anguish that was laced with passion that was bound by need. She felt his release and hers was close to follow. She felt total repletion. He pulled out of her, and placed his body by her side on the narrow table. He pulled her closer, if that was possible, and placed his arm and leg over her possessively. He said, "I don't think I will ever let you go, what do you say about that, Hermione?"

"I say you can have me, on one condition," she mewed.

He kissed her again, drowsily, lingering his lips upon hers before he asked, "And what would that condition be?"

"You have to wash all of this oil off of me. I feel squishy."

He thought, 'What the hell?' Then he said, "I'm not sure what you mean, but come, your bath is waiting, and I might be persuaded to wash off the oil, if you are nice to me." He climbed off the table, and helped her to sit. It was then that he saw the damage that was done earlier. She had the makings of a large bruise on her hip. She had small scrapes, and concrete burns, on her shoulder and arm. She had a small laceration on her forehead. He had tried hard not to notice them earlier, because he was afraid if he concentrated on them, he would feel guilty, and that was one emotion Lucius Malfoy had never felt even once in his life.

Until now.

He actually picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. Fine, he loved her. No one had to know. It could be their secret. In fact, he might not even tell her.


	7. SEVEN

**SEVEN –****  
**  
The water in the bathtub had cooled considerably, but one wave of his wand took care of that. Once again, the water in the tub was warm and sudsy. The bathroom filled with steam and Lucius filled with want. He dipped his hand in the water, found it perfect, and with her hand in his, helped her sit in the tub.

She actually sighed at the pure delight of being in the warm, soapy water. He said, "Scoot up."

"Are you joining me?" she asked, somewhat surprised.

"How can I get rid of your squishy feeling if I cannot bathe you correctly?" he asked. He stepped behind her, and when he sat down, his legs on both sides of hers, she leaned back into his chest. She closed her eyes as she felt the soft terrycloth touch her skin. He lifted one arm, and then the other. He moved her forward and washed her back with lazy circles. She could easily get used to being taken care of like this. She shouldn't get used to it, but she could.

The cloth slid over her shoulders, around each breast, and down her stomach. She sighed again, more than satisfied with his ministrations. Her head lolled back against his shoulder. Tension left her body, replaced by a decadence that she rarely felt. What was this man doing to her?

After he washed her thoroughly, he also washed himself. The next thing she knew, the soapy water was now free of suds, ('where was his wand when he was naked?' she wondered), and he began to rinse her with a cup she had beside the tub.

She said, "I can rinse myself."

"No," was all he said.

She was so relaxed she probably couldn't anyway. When they were both clean and free of suds and oil, he reclined against the back of the tub, pulling her with him. He kissed her cheek, her neck, her ear, and then he tightened his arms around her. Occasionally, he teased her nipples, or massaged her breasts, but he never took it beyond that. He could tell she was relaxed, and he wanted to do nothing to dissolve that feeling.

"You know, I don't usually do this," she said, her hands moving back and forth in the water, causing little waves to lap around their bodies.

"Take baths?" he asked.

She smiled, but he could not see. She said, "No, take a bath with a man."

"Oh, I do it all the time," he said.

She turned her head to look at him, giving him a strange look.

"Myself, Hermione, I meant myself."

"Well, you said you learned to give a massage in prison, I thought perhaps you had more you wanted to confess," she joked. He leaned over and bit her neck.

"You and Allen never took baths together?" he asked.

"Sometimes, sure," she said. "You know, I want you to know that this isn't just casual for me. I don't know what's in store for us when all this is said and done, but I wanted you to know that."

He didn't know what to say. He couldn't promise her anything, and he couldn't admit anything. What was she telling him? Was she falling for him? He would pretend she hadn't said it. He finally leaned her forward, stepped out of the tub, and as he dried off, she leaned back against the tub again and closed her eyes. He started to drain the tub, which forced her to open her eyes. He had a navy blue towel low on his hips. His hair was damp, water droplets splattered about his body, and she knew one thing. She loved him.

She stood up and he offered her a towel. As she dried, he went into the bedroom, and came back in the bathroom with a robe on his tall frame and another one in his arm for her. They were both black silk.

"Seriously, how do you do this?" she asked as he placed the robe on her arms.

"I am a paragon of magical abilities, I know. I have many secrets hidden up my proverbial sleeve," he said. "Now, I believe you offered to cook for me several hours ago, and I am completely famished."

"Oh, of course, let's go downstairs and see what I can whip up," she said.

She stood in front of her opened icebox, shifting her weight from her right leg to her left. He sat at the table and watched her with amusement. He liked the way her hip jutted against the fine silk material of the robe, and the way the material accentuated her round bottom.

"I really don't have any food," she said. She turned to look at him. "I have a jar of jam, one egg, some old cheese, and a half a loaf of bread. Let me look in the cupboard." She walked over and opened first one cupboard, and then another. "Crackers, oatmeal, and something in which I am confused as to what it is." She leaned down and opened a bottom cupboard. He couldn't resist leaning his head down as he tried to get a peek of her bottom. She stood back up and said, "Two cans of soup and a can of baked beans. I'll have to go to the store."

"You are joking, right?" he asked.

"No, I'm not. Get dressed; we're going to the market."

Lucius put the Muggle suit back on, since that was all he had. He dressed in the other bedroom, and he noticed that the closet in that room, (yes, he was snooping) was filled with men's clothing. She had never gotten rid of her lover's clothing. He thought that was sad, but sweet at the same time. She waited for him by the back door, and they walked out to the porch.

She pointed overhead and said, "No planter to fall on me this time."

He looked her over. What would be the point? Even though she had on jean shorts, a tight yellow t-shirt, and white trainers, he thought she looked perfectly adorable. Just as good as she did in the silver dress. She turned back around, locked the deadbolt with her key, and bounded for her car.

He was terrible overdressed for this little Muggle market. He couldn't remember the last time he was in a Muggle market; actually, he had never been in a Muggle market. He would be slightly more disgusted at his surroundings, if he were not trying to watch out for her so closely.

She pushed a basket around the store, putting food in it every so often. He almost laughed at the comparative ways they were dressed. He thought people probably thought she was his servant or something, as they walked along together.

"Do you want iceberg lettuce, or Romaine?" she asked.

"Who cares," he said.

"Hmp!" she exclaimed. "Do you want dessert?"

He smiled at that one. "I told you earlier, you are all the dessert I need." He put his arm around her, turned her to face him, and held her to his chest. He brought his lips down and kissed her quickly.

She pushed against his chest and said, "We're in a market!"

"So?" he asked.

Indeed, two little, old women were watching them, with smiles on their faces. Lucius looked at them and said, "Hello, ladies. My little housekeeper and I sneak kisses in whenever we can, because the little Misses doesn't like me to kiss the help."

One of them laughed, and one said, "Well, I never!"

After they walked off, he turned to her, but she was frowning. "I'm your housekeeper?" she asked.

"Well, the way you are dressed, I was going to say housekeeper or gardener," he said truthfully.

She walked away from him. When he finally found her again, she was at the check out, paying for their food. After they were in her car, he said, "Are you upset with me?"

"Yes," she said.

"Because I made a joke to a couple of little Muggles?" he asked. She didn't answer. In fact, they drove the whole way back to her house in silence. He felt she was upset at more than just his little joke.

She pulled into her drive and shut off the engine. She looked at him. "I haven't felt this way…no, I haven't FELT for such a long time, and I don't want to lose you, or rather die, so soon after finding someone again. I know you don't feel the same way, I don't expect you to, but I can't help how I feel. I love you."

She turned her head back to face her garage. She said, "Say something, please, anything."

"What a little outburst," he finally said in response.

"Fine," she answered. She opened her car door. He reached in front of her and pulled it shut. Hermione tried to open it again, and he got his wand out of his pocket, and locked it with magic. She gripped her hands tightly to the steering wheel, refusing to look at him.

"We've only been reacquainted for a couple of weeks, Hermione," he said.

"I know."

"You don't fall in love with someone in a couple of weeks," he clarified, even though he knew that was a lie, because he loved her.

"I loved Allen after the first week," she said.

She wasn't making this any easier on him. "You don't love me," he said. "Yes, I've made you feel again, but you don't love me. We have a strong sexual chemistry, but that is lust, not love." He hated to be so cruel, but sometimes cruelty was kinder than the truth.

In addition, he hated to tell her this, but after looking in the death teller again before the wedding, he had a strong feeling that the only reason someone was trying to kill her was because of him. He wasn't sure why he felt that, he just had a strong suspicion. Therefore, it would be better for her not to love him. Loving him was dangerous.

She turned to look at him and said, "Maybe you don't care for me, but I love you. I know I do. I'm sorry if that makes this awkward, or if you're uncomfortable. I really am. Please, let's forget I said anything and go inside and eat." She leaned her forehead on the steering wheel. He reached his hand over, under her hair, and massaged her neck.

It was understandable for her to think she loved him. They had a strange, tentative relationship starting, but he had looked deeply in her eyes last night, when she talked about Allen. He even attempted to use Legilimens on her. He succeeded to see how much she loved Allen and how much pain she had been in since losing him, but she could not possibly feel the same thing for him in such a short time, even if he did feel it for her. He rubbed her neck and then he let his hand fall down to the small of her back.

She lost him. She knew she shouldn't have said anything. She should have just been content with what they had. She should just have just kept his friendship, and the intimacy he was willing to share with her, and not be concerned about her heart. She felt she lost him already, when she said she loved him and he didn't say anything in return. She began to cry. She couldn't help it and she didn't care. The thought of loving someone who didn't love her back sent a pang to her heart, and it hurt her more than she ever thought possible.

He took one of her hands from its vice-like grip from the steering wheel, and he caressed it softly, before kissing the top. He turned her hand over and kissed her wrist. How could he tell her he loved her, too, especially as it may not last? Wouldn't that hurt her more in the end? He continued kissing her arm, and she felt a tingling sensation all over her body. Heat went out to every pore in her body, and desire throbbed within her, beating in time with the desire coming from him. Maybe this was all they had. Perhaps it WAS lust, not love.

She shifted to face him, and he lifted her from the drivers' seat, so that she straddled him in the seat next to it. Her hands traveled his chest and neck, and they began to kiss wildly. He touched her breasts, under her shirt. His movements equaled hers in desire, as reckless want passed from her lips to his. His mouth claimed hers with greed and a desperate desire. He pulled her as close to him as he could, so that he could feel the tips of her breasts through her shirt, on his chest.

She didn't care what he said. No man could kiss her like this if he only lusted after her. He kissed down her neck, and back up to her ear, pulling at the fleshy part, and making her moan. His lips claimed hers once more, until he was almost devouring her.

The confines of the car made it difficult to move or get close enough. He finally withdrew from her mouth and said, "We are too exposed out here. The killer or an Auror might see us. We need to get in the house." She moved her leg from across him and fell back into her seat. She heaved a sigh, and opened the door. She opened the back car door, grabbed the groceries, and went to her back door. Standing on the porch, she dropped the bags. He walked up behind her and asked, "What is it?'

"My door is ajar." She turned to look at him. He stood in front of her, pulled out his wand, and kicked opened the door.


	8. EIGHT

**EIGHT –**

"Where are the damn Aurors?" Hermione asked as she placed the grocery sacks on the porch and held onto Lucius' back.

He turned around and said, "Where are you going?"

"I'm coming in with you."

"No, stay here," he said.

"No, it's my house," she said.

"I insist you stay here," he seethed.

"I'm an adult, and a fully qualified witch who can take care of herself, so tell me one reason I should stay here?" she asked, as she withdrew her wand.

He pocketed his wand, put both hands on her arms, pulled her to him, and crashed his mouth on hers. He stopped the kiss almost before it started and said, "Because I love you, you stupid, stupid girl, now stay here." He turned back around and walked in the house.

She stood on the porch in total shock.

He loved her. When did that happen? Why did that happen? How did that happen? Why didn't he say it when she said she loved him? Did he mean it? Why would he say it if he didn't mean it. Oh no, the man she loved, who loved her too, was in there alone with a possible killer. She put her wand in front of her and went in the back door.

She got no further than the hallway past the kitchen, because she ran into his back. He stayed in front of her, but he placed his arm behind him to touch her. He turned to her quickly and said, "Don't go in the living room."

"Why?"

"Please, just don't," he said.

She pushed past him and in the living room was Mark's assistant, Joy Humphries, lying on her stomach in a pool of blood, clutching a folder, dead.

She gasped and ran to the girl. She stood over her and said, "Oh my god!"

"So much for the protection of the bloody Aurors!" Lucius spat.

Harry and his assistant came, removed the body, and looked for evidence. Mark was on his honeymoon, but he came as well. He felt it was his fault, because he told Joy to take that folder to Hermione. He had no idea what was going on, or he wouldn't have sent her.

Hermione sat in the dark dining room, all by herself, rocking back and forth. After the body was removed, and the crime scene secure, Harry came in and sat beside her.

"She had dark curly hair, like me," Hermione said.

"Yes, she did," he said, using the past tense, like she did.

Hermione turned to Harry and said, "The killer must have thought she was me."

"I assume so," he said.

"Why didn't the wards work? Why didn't the Aurors see anyone entering or leaving?" she asked.

"We are going to find that out, but in the meantime, I want to put you up in a safe house," Harry said.

Lucius walked in the room and said, "She will be safe here, with me, no thanks to any of you, however."

Harry stood up and said, "Has it occurred to you that she might be in danger because of you?"

Lucius wondered what the little wonder boy knew. "Of course it occurred to me."

"What do you both mean?" Hermione asked.

"Hermione, there was a note by Joy's body. It said, 'For Lucius Malfoy'. Someone wants to kill you to seek revenge on Lucius," Harry said. "All of this started after he came into the picture."

Hermione shook her head no. "The first time we saw my death, Lucius and I weren't even involved yet."

"Maybe not, but if that damn dark object can foresee a person's death, couldn't it also, maybe, foresee things to come? Didn't you say in your first vision you saw Lucius running toward you, after you were stabbed?" Harry asked.

Hermione looked up at Lucius.

"I already suspected as much," he said.

She stood up, "So, that's why you wanted to protect me? You suspected we would become involved?"

"Partly, yes," he admitted.

She said, "Is everything cleaned up in the living room?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"Are you done in there?"

"Yes," he repeated.

"Then leave, and take all the Aurors with you. They didn't do Joy any good, and they won't do me any good."

"Hermione, I'm going to stay here, myself," Harry said.

"No, go home, Harry, please just go home." She walked to the kitchen, still numb with grief and guilt, and began to finally put her groceries away.

Harry stood up and said, "We're still going to watch the house."

"It is someone on the inside, you realize that, don't you," Lucius said. "Someone who either works in the Ministry, or an Auror. The first vision showed she was killed in highly secure warehouse. The second one showed she was killed at an event that was full of Ministry employees, and now, only an Auror or someone from the inside of the Ministry could have gotten past the wards and the Aurors stationed outside."

"Are you done with your little synopsis?" Harry asked annoyed. Harry had already suspected that, but had yet to say it aloud. He wouldn't give Lucius the satisfaction. He stormed out of the room and toward the front door. Lucius followed. Harry turned to the older man and said, "She would have been better off if you hadn't come into her life."

"And yet now, I am the one that must save her life, ironic, no?" Lucius sneered. "Leave, Potter."

Harry glared at the former Death Eater and said, "The only reason I don't arrest you right now is because I do think you care for her. Keep her safe Lucius. If she dies, you die too; do you understand my meaning?"

"Your meaning is screaming out at me, so yes, I understand," Lucius said.

Potter left and Lucius locked the door with magic. He went around the entire house, (for the second time that evening) and secured all doors and windows. He took off his suit jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, then went back down the stairs. When he walked into the kitchen he saw her at the counter, cutting vegetables, her shoulders heaving in tears. He cleared his throat. She immediately stopped crying and without turning toward him she said, "You must be as hungry as I am. I'll have dinner in a flash."

He walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. He drew his hands lightly down her arms to her hands. She dropped her knife. He wrapped her arms around the front of her body, still encased in his arms, and she leaned against his strong back. She looked up at him and said, "You said you loved me earlier."

"You don't say," he said, cocking one eyebrow.

"Did you mean it?" she asked.

"Do I look like someone who would say something they didn't mean?" he asked.

"No," she answered. "But by your own admission, you lie, often and well." She turned in his arms and put both hands on his face. She said, "Use Legilimens on me again."

"For what reason? What do you want me to see?" he asked.

"I want you too see how much pain I was in when Allen died," she said.

"I don't want to see that," he answered.

"You need to, because you have to know, if something happened to you or if you decide this is just a fling and you leave me, it might kill me this time," she said.

"You are being highly impractical and that is highly improbable," he said, trying to keep things light. He started to walk way. She kept his face tightly in her hand.

"Do it Lucius," she said.

He put his hands on her face, mimicking her movements, and he looked deep in her eyes. He said, "Legilimens."

He saw pain, deep sorrow and hurt. He saw her crying, days on end. She was unable to function, with no sleep, no food, and no companionship for months. She was as close to death herself as one could get just from grief. Those were the things he saw. He let go of her face, and sat down in a chair at the kitchen table. He heaved a deep breath. She was crying again, having relived it all as he saw it. She sat on his lap and said, "You won't let that happen to me again, will you?"

All he could do was shake his head no.

Dinner was quiet. Neither spoke. It was awkward. He shouldn't have told her he loved her. He shouldn't have used Legilimens on her. Hell, he shouldn't have pursued her. She started to clear the plates, and he grabbed her wrist.

"Leave them," he said. "I need to make love to you right now."

"I can't. It'll bother me. I'll lie awake all night thinking about the dirty dishes on the table," she admitted. "We can have sex later."

"Make love," he said.

"Sex," she said with a smile. They were having the opposite argument that they had before.

He smiled as he stood. He put his finger under her chin and said, "You odd, odd girl. Fine, wash your damn dishes, but then you are all mine. See, that's why it's nice to have house elves."

"To make love with you when you have the whim?" She laughed.

"That is disgusting," he said. "No, I mean to do your dishes. I shall get you a house elf when this is all over."

"I would never have a house elf," she said, shocked.

"Then by all mean, have fun doing your own dishes," he said.

She reached over to the sink and said, "Here's a dishtowel, you dry."

"Dry what?" he asked, seriously.

Now she laughed. Finally, the tension in the room was lifted. "Dry the dishes."

"Why, won't they dry by themselves," he asked.

"They'll get spots," she said.

"Are you joking with me?" he asked.

"You're so funny," she said. She filled the sink with warm, soapy water, and placed the dirty dishes inside. He stood beside her. She washed the first plate and said, "Let's start with something easy, like a plate."

He looked at it, and finally took it from her hand. He put the dry towel on it and moved it in circles. He held it and said, "Now what?"

"Put it in dish drainer," she said, pointing to the chrome rack beside the sink.

"Why?"

"So it will finish drying, and them we will put them away," she said.

"Why don't we put them away now? Skip the middle man. It's dry, and that dish drainer thing seems to be a wasteful step," he said.

"Hey, who's the expert here, you or I?" she asked, handing him a glass.

He looked at it funny and said, "How do I dry the inside?"

"Figure it out. You were smart enough to figure out how to maim and torture Muggles back in the day, I think you can figure out how to dry a glass," she said, washing a skillet.

He glared at her, took his wand, and dried the glass. He placed it on the counter.

"That's cheating, but I know you already pointed out to me that you are not above cheating," she said.

"It's just I always used my wand to maim and torture Muggles, so I thought it would work on drying dishes," he said, with a serious look on his face.

She splashed soap on him. He looked shocked and appalled. "That's very mature, Hermione."

She had her arms in the water, suds up to her elbows. The sight made him remember their bath from earlier. He wanted to take her so badly in the tub, but he showed restraint. He was done showing restraint. He wanted her just as badly now. He grew hard, standing behind her, watching her do manual labor. What was wrong with him?

He took another step back, to admire her legs and bum. She held out the skillet she had just washed toward him and said, "Here, dry please."

"Place it in the rack," he commanded. She turned slightly. He said, "Turn back around."

"What?"

"Do it," he said.

She shrugged, put the skillet in the drainer, and her hands back in the water. He threw the dishtowel on the table and moved behind her, his hands on her hips, his hard erection against her bum. He started to move her slightly against his body.

"That not how you dry dishes," she said, though she smiled. She dropped the knife she was washing, and arched her back against him. He reached one hand around her waist, and unbuttoned and unzipped her jean shorts. He slipped his hand inside her shorts. He rubbed her outside her knickers. She moaned. He placed his other hand on the top of her t-shirt and kneaded her breasts.

"You are so wet," he said.

"I'm washing dishes," she said, joking. She knew what he meant.

He bit down on her neck, and licked the spot he bit, the whole time, his hand pushing on her nub, outside her panties. He slipped his hand inside, and placed a finger inside her folds. She gasped. He placed his other hand at her hip, to keep her in place. Her legs started to tremble, and she clenched the side of the sink. He massaged her until she almost saw stars. She was shocked when he sudden pulled her shorts and underwear down. She tried to turn around, but he kept her back to him.

He probed her entrance once more, paying special attention to her clit. She was on her tiptoes as it was, and had to spread her legs to grant him more access. He unzipped his pants and said, "Shall we?"

Bracing her hands on the countertop for support, she felt his bare penis against her back. She wanted to turn and face him. She tried again, but he wouldn't have it. He liked to be in control. He suddenly pulled on her hips, backed them both down onto a kitchen chair, and rammed her right down on his hard, throbbing need.

She bent at the waist, and then arched her back, and leaned her head on his shoulder. She still had her bra and shirt on. She felt exposed, here in her kitchen, with no pants on, sitting with her back to him, fully engulfing him. What if someone could see? He played with her clit and said, "You are in control now, so move, Hermione."

She couldn't move. She was in shock. He finally took his hand from her middle and started to move her hips, rocking her back and forth and up and down. She barely had time to know what to do, when her orgasm started.

She cried out, loudly. He grunted a few times. She almost fell off his lap. He held her tight, still inside her.

"You need to kiss me now," she said. She didn't like not facing her lover. He picked her up by the waist, and deposited her on the kitchen table. This shocked her more than what they just did.

She thought, 'please kiss me'. He stood up, zipped his pants, and stood between her open legs. He confined her face between his hands and touched his lips to hers, tasting the food they just ate, and so much more. His tongue swirled around hers, and then rimmed her lips. She actually moaned in his mouth. He devoured her moan, with a soul searching kiss. Then he pushed her on the table, parted her legs, sat back down in the chair, and pulled her to him, his hands on her waist. She was too terrified to say a word. He placed his hands under her bum, and her legs over his shoulders, and his tongue begun to probe every single fold and crevice of her inner sanctum. He slowly dragged his tongue up and down her folds, before he stopped to suck on her clit. She was so dizzy, she felt like passing out. She forgot how to breathe. For one thing, she couldn't believe he was doing 'this' right after the just finished doing 'that'! As he sucked her dry, his fingers inside her, moving back and forth, she couldn't help but arch her back. She grasped the sides of the table and yelled, "Please!"

Her head banged against the hard wood of the table as she exploded against his lips. She felt so totally numb and spent, she couldn't move if she had to.

She didn't have to. He stood up, took her in his arms, and said, "I think it's time for another bath, don't you?"

Heaven help her, if he had anything else in mind, she just might self imploded!


	9. NINE

**NINE -**

Hermione slept totally sated after another bath where they had made love twice more. Then, they had then made love twice more in her bed. Though she slept, he did not. Lucius crept out of her room and went downstairs to the living room. He found his jacket and reached in the pocket for the death teller. He had to see if anything had changed. He sat on the chair, put both hands on the red sphere, shut his eyes, and said the incantation.

In the vision, he saw Hermione in a small building that looked like a tool shed. She was calling his name. The door to the small building shut, and it was dark, the only light coming in the small wooden structure was the light from the outside creeping in between the planks of the walls. She gasped, turned around, and a large sickle, or some such tool, slashed down on her. He dropped the ball before he saw the rest. He was visibly shaken.

Hermione walked in the room, bent down, and picked up the ball. He just noticed she came in the room. She said, "How did I die this time? It must not have been too pleasant, because you look white as a sheet." She handed him the sphere.

He took it from her hand and placed it on the table by the chair. He pulled on her arm and forced her on his lap. He buried his face in her neck. He tried to smile, but it came off false. He said, "This is my normal complexion, my dear."

"You didn't answer my question," she said, stroking his face.

"You didn't die this time. You and I lived happily ever after, riding off in the sunset," he lied. She leaned backwards and reached for the death teller.

"If you're going to lie, I'll just check for myself," she said. He wrestled the item from her hand and placed it back on the table.

"No!" he said with anger.

"I'm not a child you can just say no to," she said. She reached for it again. He stood up so suddenly, she was thrown off his lap to the floor. He took the death teller, held it over her head, pulled out his wand, and it vanished, just like that.

She stood up and said, "Where did it go? We have to have it!"

"It's safe, and you will be too; now, go back to bed," he said.

"Yes, father!" she said sarcastically. She started to storm away, but he pulled her back.

"First, I am no where near being your father, however, if you intend to act like a spoiled child, of course, I will accommodate you," he leered. He turned her around in his arms quickly, sat on the couch, pulled her over his lap, and swatted her bottom three times, hard.

"You are an arse!" she yelled.

He actually pushed her off his lap, stood up and said, "Watch your tone, or I might wash your mouth out with soap to go along with that spanking!" He stormed up the stairs. She stayed on the floor, in total, unabashed shock. She had never been spanked before, not even by her own parents! She knew some people found a perverse sexual pleasure from the act, but she just felt humiliated. She crawled up on the couch, punched the pillow twice, pretending it was his face, and she went to sleep.

Sometime in the early morning she woke up and decided to climb up the stairs to go back to bed. Every bit of her body still hurt, from all the abuse it had taken the day before, both from the accident and all their sexual exploits. She looked at the clock on the mantel over the fireplace and noted it was almost 5 am. It was Sunday, so she could sleep in if she wanted. She made it to the third step, when she heard a noise on her porch. She turned quickly, in fear, and saw her front door was opened wide. Her heartbeat rapidly, and she was about to yell for Lucius, when he appeared outside the screen door.

With her hand over her chest she said, "You scared me so badly!"

He opened the screen and held out his hand. She took a hesitant step toward him and said, "Is it safe out there?"

"Yes, I even put a concealment charm over the porch. Let's watch the sunrise together," he said.

"The sunrise is probably 90 minutes away," she said, "And I thought I could get some more sleep."

It was not up for debate, however. He opened the door, pulled on her arm, and she soon was joining him on the chaise lounge on her porch, tucked nicely against his side.

"When did you wake up?" she asked.

"I haven't been to sleep yet," he admitted.

"What?" She couldn't believe it. It was after one when he 'spanked' her, and he hadn't been back to sleep? "Why?" she asked.

"Next you will ask 'When?' and 'Where?' won't you?" he said with a haughty air.

"Don't forget, 'How'," she said. "Those are the five basic questions, who, what, where, when and how."

He kissed the top of her head and said, "Let me see, I'll answer one, but only one."

"Okay, let me think which is the most important," she said, grasping his hand in hers. "Why?"

"That wasn't one of the five basic questions," he said.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"It should have been, but you definitely said who, what, when, where and how."

"Well, I amend my statement. There are six basic questions, and I want to ask you all of them. Let's start with why?" she asked. She looked up at him.

"Isn't that one implied?" he replied. He loved her, which was why. He loved her and was up all night to keep her safe. He didn't need to say that again. She should know it by now, and she didn't seem like the type of insecure female who needed it said fifty times a day for confirmation. Since he was quiet for so long, she decided to ask another question.

"How old are you?"

He would rather answer the other question. He looked down at her as she stared up at him. He asked, "How old are you? Are you Draco's age?"

"I'm slightly older. I'm almost a year old than him," she said. "I was born in September."

"I'm 46 years old," he said. She sat upright suddenly, and turned in the chair so her legs were over his lap, across one arm of the chair and her back was against the other arm of the chaise.

"That's not very old," she said, somewhat pleased. "I'm almost 26. See, you're only 20 years older than I am. You must have gotten married young."

"Purebloods always married young in those days. Their marriages were usually arranged, and the families usually wanted them to start reproducing as soon as they could," he explained.

"Ah, that's so romantic," she said sarcastically. "My parents married later in life. They were 35 when they married, and both of them were 40 when they had me," she said. They are 65 and 66 years old. See, they're old enough to be your parents, and you are old enough to be mine." She laughed and he did as well.

Finally, she asked, "Why did you only have one child?"

He looked at her funny and said, "You asked the 'How', and now this one counts as your 'Why', so you have four more questions after that, as to why, that was all my wife could have."

She wanted to ask why that was, but she already used her why. She asked, "Who arranged your marriage, your parents?"

"Of course," he said, with no further explanation.

"What would you have done, if you hadn't married young? Would you have become a writer, an artist, a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker? What?" she asked, touching his face lightly with her hand.

He touched hers and said, "Candlestick maker?"

"Yes, when I was young, my grandmother would recite this nursery rhythm that went, rub a dub, dub, three men in a tub, and who do you think they be? Butcher, baker, candlestick maker, turn them all over, all knaves are thee."

Lucius smiled and said, "Muggles are strange."

"Coming from you, that's a compliment, because you are the king of strange," she said.

"I am merely the prince," he said with a laugh.

She laughed too and said, "Let's see, I have asked the who, what, why and how. I need to know a where and a when." She thought for a moment and she asked, "When did you know you loved me?"

He looked away from her and said, "Ask the where."

"Where were you when you knew you loved me?" she asked.

He actually laughed, turned his face back to hers and said, "I must keep some secrets, my dear."

Her eyes suddenly brightened and she said, "I remember another thing my grandmother used to do! She would count the buttons on my jumper or blouse, and say this little nursery rhythm, and whichever button she ended with, was who I was going to marry someday. It went, tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief, doctor, lawyer, Indian chief."

"How fun," he said with a perfectly straight face. "Purebloods had a similar game. It was pureblood, halfblood, mudblood or blood traitor. Marry three of these, and lose your head later."

She took his face between her hands, and kissed his mouth hard. "That doesn't give a girl much of a choice, does it?"

"Maybe not, but it was always fun to act out," he said perfectly serious, although she saw the twinkle in his eye.

Ignoring his droll demeanor, she pulled on the front of her nightshirt and said, "Let's see who I'm going to marry."

"I'll do the honours," he said. He started at the bottom button and touching it lightly he said, "Tinker, correct?" She nodded. He touched the next one and said, "Tailor," the next two, "Soldier and Sailor," and then there was one more button, over the swell of her breasts. He cupped her breasts lightly, first one, then the other. He fingered the button and said, "Rich man. What do you know; it seems you are going to marry a rich man, Hermione."

He looked up in her eyes, and smiled a smile that was a cross between smug, and amusement.


	10. TEN

**TEN –****  
**  
She smiled up at him, patted his chest, and said, "I can assure you, I am never marrying anyone."

"Never say never, my love," he said, kissing her cheek. She laid her head back on his chest and shut her eyes. He traced her cheek with his finger and said, "I never thought I would be sitting on a front porch in a Muggle neighbourhood, before dawn, in a chaise lounge, with the most famous Mudblood of them all by my side, but here I am, and there you go."

She opened her eyes and glared at him. She should be angry at him after such a comment, but there was a certain look in his eye that told her that he meant no offense. Oh, she had no doubt he meant what he said, but he didn't mean to hurt her. She knew that for certain. She had more important things to worry about besides the word Mudblood, like someone trying to kill her.

She stared off into the sky, the sun was just starting to come over the housetops, and she contemplated that very thing.

"What are you thinking about so intently? Ten different ways to castrate me for calling you Mudblood?" he asked.

She stood up from the chair. He grabbed for her arm, but she was already out of his reach. "No," she said, distracted, "I hardly care about something like that." She sat down on the front steps. He sat upright in the chair. He had only placed the concealment charm over the porch, but the wards he set went well beyond the house. Still, he wished she would not venture any farther. He stood from the chair and joined her on the steps.

She placed her head on his shoulder, and he placed his arm around hers. It felt so natural, so real, that he could barely believe she was really his, and no matter how much she might deny it, she was. She really was. He kissed the top of her head and said, "What is weighing on your mind?"

She said, "I was wondering why someone would want to kill me. Moreover, why do you and Harry both think that it has something to do with you?" She turned to look at him.

He did not want to have this discussion right now. "I am sure I have no clue why someone would want to kill such a delightful person."

"That's not what I asked," she said.

"What did you ask?" he asked, trying to sound vague, though he knew his ruse fooled no one, especially her.

"Why do you think it has something to do with you and me?" she asked. He stood up, went in the house, and never answered her question. He left her feeling somewhat lonely out on the porch by herself. When she went back in the house, he was upstairs showering. She decided to fix some breakfast. When she heard the shower finish, she went to find him. He was on her bed, in only a towel, the blinds closed so the room was dark.

She walked up to the bed, and leaned down to look at him, her knee on the bed beside his body.

"Don't talk," he instructed, before she could speak. "I need a couple of hours sleep, and then, and only then, will I answer your questions."

"Will you make love to me first?" she asked.

He turned to look at her. "You never need to ask that."

His chest hurt, from the love that he felt for her, and the knowledge of the troubles that he was bringing to her. She sat beside him, caressing his chest and shoulders. He reached up and stroked her hair. He knew he would have to tell her the truth eventually, but not right now. Right now, he wanted to love her again. She made him feel needed. She made him feel young, and more importantly, she made him feel necessary. He pulled her down to him, and kissed her lips with a hunger and want he had not felt in such a long time.

She pulled away and said, "Are you going to be truthful with me?"

"Believe me, when I make love to you, I am never anything but truthful." He rolled slightly, so she was under him. He felt her tight nipples against his chest. He was in only a towel, since it was a warm morning, and he had hoped she would come and make love with him so he could sleep soundly for a while. She moved to her side, and then pushed him back to his back. She tore her shirt off her body, and then reached down for her sleeping shorts. She started to kiss his chest and nipples. She kissed his ribs. She said, "You are too thin."

"Fatten me up," he said, with a smile.

She kissed down his stomach, looked up at him and said, "Right now?"

"Okay, later," he said with another smile. As she continued to kiss his waist and stomach, he reached up for her face. "Tell me what to do," he urged. He had never once in his entire life asked someone to tell him what to do. Lucius Malfoy always knew what to do, and never needed anyone's advice about anything. He was always self-assured. It was different now and not a totally unwelcome feeling.

She smiled, climbed up his body, and said, "Just enjoy the moment." His heart temporarily stopped as the realization of what she was about to do unfolded. Her hand went to the knot in his towel, and she loosened it, and let it fall to each side of his hips. She licked her lips once, and he had to shut his eyes, because that innocent enough gesture brought him to the brink of desire.

She was totally focused on him, as she took him in her hands. Her touch almost seemed innocent, explorative. He opened his eyes again, just in time to see her lower her head. His heart exploded. When she took him in her mouth, he had to close his eyes again in sheer ecstasy, but was quick to open them once more. He didn't want to miss this, not for a moment.

She placed one hand at the base of his shaft, and then as if tasting him, she let her tongue come out and lick the small slit at the top. That small action made him grow harder than he could ever remember being his entire life. His wife had rarely ever done this for him. She wasn't usually willing to do anything new or different. Because he loved her so, and knew he could have such desires fulfilled by other willing witches, he kept his wife up on a pedestal, revered her, and gave into her wants and wishes.

With this young witch, he felt like he could be himself. He could be open and honest, because she was. He would treat her with as much love and respect as he had his wife, but there would be no pedestal for Hermione Granger. By all that was evil and by all that was holy, he would keep her forever by his side.

She began to suck harder, taking him deeper, but still, her touch seemed hesitant, and her mouth wavered. He put his hand lightly on her head, and begged her not to stop. She didn't. He was almost to the edge, and he said her name, and came. She pushed herself away from him. She seemed almost as if she didn't know what to do next. He took her hand and pulled her to him.

"Was that okay?" she asked.

"Why would you ask that? That was wonderful," he said.

"It's been a while," she laughed. She nuzzled next to him, her nose skimming his neck and face. He turned her to her back and propped himself up on his side. His hand skimmed down her arm, to her hip, and slipped between her legs.

He said, "My wife was always so guarded with me. We didn't share much in the bedroom or out of it. I will try to be truthful to you." He slipped a finger inside her, and pressed her opening with his thumb. She spread her legs slightly, and then said the magic word. She said his name, just as he had said hers.

He rose up on his knees, and put his mouth on her opening, and continued to tease her with wide strokes of his tongue. His practiced fingers plunged into her, matching the rhythm of his tongue and lips. Soon, she came in a rush, and in a flood of emotion, she threw back her head, and actually screamed.

He pulled her to his arms, and she continued to shudder. When the orgasm subsided, she stroked his face and said, "You get some sleep now. I have to go get my shower." There she was, telling him what to do again, and he liked that, very, very much. He rolled to his side and was soon asleep.

When he woke up, he decided to take another quick shower. He knew it was almost noon. He went to try to find something to transfigure into clothing. He remembered that the first night he was here the closet in the extra bedroom was filled with Allen's clothing. He didn't want to walk down the hall to that room, however, and have her discover him rummaging through her dead lover's things. He also didn't want to go back to Draco's house even for a moment, not even to get clean clothing. He went to the other small closet in her room, just by chance, and opened the door.

It too was still filled with Allen's clothing. He took a second to consider things. First, he took out several basic articles of clothes. A couple pairs of slacks, some shoes, and some shirts. He opened up some drawers in the bureau next to that closet. Sure enough, Allen's things were still there, as well. He took a few more things. He laid them all on the bed, transfigured them to fit him, and to his style; then he took his wand and vanished the rest of the items. He didn't get rid of them permanently. He merely vanished them to her garage.

He dressed in the now dark blue shirt and slacks, and went to find her. He could sense she was close. He could always sense his wife's presence, too. He wondered why he was thinking so much about her today. It had to do with Hermione, he was sure. He didn't feel the guilt and sorrow he usually felt when he was thinking of her. He just was remembered her, and it was nice.

He went to the third bedroom, which was converted to an office, and found her right away. She was looking through a file. She didn't even look up at him. She had on a summer dress, red, and she looked beautiful. He stood in front of the desk and looked at the file she was reading, and saw that it was about Allen. It was the Ministry file on his death.

"How did you get that?" he asked.

She looked up at him and said, "Harry gave it to me, just a few minutes ago."

"Potter is here?" he asked with apparent disgust, as if he tasted something nasty. She laughed at his expression.

"No, he was here. He left again. I asked him to bring me this, so he did."

"What are you hoping to find?" he asked.

"I'm not even sure," she admitted. She went back to examining the file. He sat on the edge of the desk, inches from her chair. Without looking at him she said, "They never solved his murder, and I never got closure. He was here one moment and gone the next." She looked up at Lucius, but she didn't seem sad, just thoughtful. She said, "He went to work one morning, kissed me on the cheek, told me he would see me later, and I never saw or spoke to him again."

Lucius said, "And they never knew who killed him, or why he was killed?"

"They never did. They didn't even find his body, just trace evidence that he was killed," she said. She closed the file and started to stand up. He pulled her between his legs. She placed her head on his shoulder, as his arms went around her waist. She continued, "They said his body was completely destroyed, and there were no remains left. I miss him so much sometimes. I thought I would feel guilty, like I was betraying him, if I ever loved someone again." She looked at him. She said, "I don't. I don't feel guilty, and I think I feel guilty because I don't feel guilty."

He smiled a crooked smile and said, "You make a hell of a lot of sense." He pushed her from him, stood up from the desk, and led them to a large comfortable chair in the corner of the room. He sat down and placed her on his lap. He said, "Tell me about him. I want to know about you two together." He wanted to feel more than physical closeness with her. He wanted to be close to every part of her life.

"You don't want to hear about us," she said.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't," he said truthfully.

"Maybe I don't want to talk about him," she said back. "It hurts too much. Sometimes, I wonder if my mourning for him is all in vain, because I think he didn't love me as much as I loved him."

He took her face in his hands and said, "Ah, that is where you are wrong, my little friend, he loved you very much."

"How would you know?" she asked. Her hands went to cover his. She brought his hands down and held them in hers. "Just because I let you look in my mind, and you saw how much I loved him, doesn't mean you know anything about what he felt for me. How would you know?" she repeated.

He said, "Because I knew him. I knew him well. I was working on a project with him when he died."


	11. ELEVEN

**ELEVEN –**

If someone had hit her in the chest with a bolt of electricity, Hermione wouldn't have been as shocked as she was by Lucius' statement. He knew Allen. He knew him and worked with him before he died. She stood up from his lap, walked over to the desk and said, "Repeat that! How did you know Allen? When did you work with him?"

Lucius knew this information would come as quite a blow to his young lover, but he had wanted to confide in her long before they had become intimate. He stood up, and put his hand out in front of him and said, "Come back here and sit down, and we will discuss this."

Those few words, which meant nothing and everything, were enough to cause her to bolt. She ran down the stairs. Lucius cursed and then ran after her. He caught her in the hallway, by the front door. She struggled in his arms and yelled, "Let me go! You are such a liar!"

He let her go, but stood in front of the door. "When have I lied to you?"

"You didn't tell me you knew Allen!" she said.

"Yes I did, just now," he said blatantly. "Hermione, calm down; let me explain everything to you."

She was having trouble breathing. Her hand was on her chest and she fought back tears, but she said, "Explain!"

"A few months before your Allen died, he visited me in prison," Lucius started. He began to walk toward her. She kept her hand out in front of her, to ward him away. That did nothing to deter him. It was as if he was corralling her, and in a way he was. He wanted to get her to the living room, so he could be sure she wouldn't run away when he finally confessed 'his sins'. He continued walking toward her; she continued walking backwards, until they were in the living room. He finally spoke again. "He was working on a top secret project, of which I know basically nothing about. He was referred to me by the Minister, and in exchange for my help, I was granted amnesty and an early release from prison."

"How could you help him?" she asked.

"Much like you needed my help on the dark objects, he needed help unraveling a dark curse, and that is as much as I am willing to say on the matter."

"You were granted an early release and then what happened? He died and they sent you back to prison?" she asked.

"I've never gone back. I've been free since then," he finally admitted.

Her hands flew to her face and she gasped. "But, why would the Minister lie to me, and tell me that you were granted your release in exchange for working with me? Are you really even under house arrest? Was your wand ever taken from you?"

"I have had my wand since I was discharged from prison. I was under a sort of house arrest, until the time I began working with you. I was sent back to prison right before I began working with you, but only as a ruse, so none of the Aurors or Ministry Officials would know I had already been released."

Her head was spinning. She sat on the couch. He remained standing. "Why are you working with me?"

"I asked to work with you. The grant money that you are seeking is from me as well. There, I've told you the truth," he said, as if he were proud of himself.

She bent at the waist and began to cry. She said, "The Minister lied to me?"

"He told you what I asked him to tell you. My offer to help you was always a sincere offer. I thought I could help. I think I have."

He was slightly alarmed as she was shaking all over.

She stood back up and said, "You've lied to me! Everyone's lied to me! Has Harry lied to me?" she asked.

"He believes the same as you," he answered.

"You lied to me!" she repeated. She backed up against the wall. He came to stand in front of her.

"Yes, I did."

"Why?" she cried.

"I wanted to know you. I wanted to help you. I wasn't able to help your fiancé, so I wanted to help you, and that again, is the sincere truth," he said. "I decided to offer the grant money to you, if you continued with the work Allen started. The Minister was always aware the money was from me. He is the only one. He wants to find out what happened to Allen as badly as I do, and probably as badly as you do. I thought I could help figure that out, but I was wrong. I have no clue why or how he died, but I do know one thing, Hermione, he loved you very much. I dare say that I love you, because he did."

Hermione walked up to him and slapped him so hard in the face that his face snapped to the side.

"You get that one for free, but don't repeat it, for I won't be responsible if you do," he warned.

"Get out of my house."

"No, you will listen to me," he said with almost a growl.

She tried to run past him, but he grabbed her arm, and actually threw her on the sofa. He kneeled on the couch next to her, his hand holding her shoulder to the cushion. He said, "Allen spoke of you with such love and devotion. He knew that I didn't totally trust him, and the thing we were working on depended on complete trust, so he too, let me use Legilimens on him, and I saw you so clearly in his mind. I saw how much he loved you. I almost think that is when I fell in love with you. Are we finished? You finally got your answers to the questions of 'where and when' I fell in love with you!"

She turned her head toward the sofa cushions and sobbed. He moved from his knees to sit on the sofa by her hip. He placed his arm along the sofa back, so she could not spring up and run away.

Without looking at him, and with tears still flowing, she said, "What do you know about his death?"

"That's the thing, I know nothing. I know what we were working on, but I have a hard time believing that had anything to do with his death. When I found out he was killed, I was stunned," he admitted.

She looked at him. "Are you sure it had nothing to do with you?"

"I knew that what we were working on was dangerous, and I'm certain that he was murdered to keep us from uncovering something. I believe that the person that killed him and the person that is trying to kill you are one in the same. However, I'm not completely sure that it has anything to do with me, and I am also not completely sure, but that it might," he said. He reached over and stroked her hair. "I'm going to find out which is the truth, one way or the other, I will figure this entire thing out, and I will protect you."

She sat up, his arm still trapping her, and she said, "Tell me more, please!"

"I can only tell you that he talked of you non-stop. He loved you very much. As I told you, before I agreed to work with Allen, I used Legilimens on him. I wanted to be sure I could trust him. I may have delved further into his mind than he wanted, for I saw you, and I saw what you meant to him. I saw how much he loved you, and I have to say that I was intrigued."

She finally pushed his arm away, and scrambled to bring her legs to the floor. She stood up and said, "You are nothing but a stalker! You don't love me! Perhaps you're the one trying to kill me, so you can save me!"

"You are talking nonsense, and it's not as if I became obsessed with you, so stop this right now, and don't EVER tell me whom I love and whom I don't! Believe me, I have loved very few people in my life, so if I say I love you, I do," he said. He stood up next to her.

"It's your fault he'is dead! I know it! You as good as killed him yourself, and now you're going to get me killed! Why would the person who killed Allen want to kill me, if it wasn't because of you! I wish you had never come to the Ministry that day! I curse the day I met you again! I want to go back to the way things were!" She put her arms around herself and hugged her own body tightly. She needed comfort from someone, and she didn't particularly want it from him at that moment.

"It is not my fault he died, so I will not take the blame! How dare you say that! And you say you want to go back to the way things were? How were they, Hermione? You want to go back to sleeping with a dead man's pillow? You want to go back to looking at old pictures every weekend? You want to go back to being alone and sad and miserable?" He continued to raise his voice, because he wanted her to see the lunacy in that statement.

"Stop living in the past! Stop holding on to a dead man! You are a young woman who is reveling in mourning your dead fiancé! Keeping his clothing in one closet, in the extra bedroom was sad enough, but to have them in the extra closet is your room is sick!"

She looked as if he punched her in her gut. She ran up the stairs to her room with Lucius close behind. Running through the doorway and then to the small closet by the bathroom, she threw open the doors to find it empty. She ran to the bureau and opened the top drawer, then the second, the third, and the last. All empty. She pulled the last drawer all the way out and tossed it on the floor.

She turned to him, pushed him, (though he didn't budge) and said, "Where are they! Where are his clothes?"

She ran to her own closet and pulled out his pillow. She wanted to make sure it was still there. She hid it there the first night Lucius showed up. Thank goodness he had not touched it. She said, "What have you done, please, what have you done?" She wasn't just referring to the clothing, or to his confession. She wasn't even just speaking to Lucius. She was, in a way, talking to HIM, talking to Allen. She continued to sob uncontrollably.

Lucius said, "I will help you live again! My promise to make sure no one kills you extends to keeping you from dying inside as well, Hermione. I won't let you wither away. I won't let you grow old before your time." She threw the pillow down and grasped his arms.

"Please, where are his things?" she cried. He put his hands on her arms as well.

"His things are gone, just like he is gone! I did what you should have done a long time ago!" he said. He shook her so hard her teeth rattled.

She sunk to the ground at his feet. "What have you done?" she asked once again, softly.

He stroked her hair and said, "I told you, I did what should have been done long ago. I didn't destroy them, but by all that is holy, Hermione, they were about to destroy you! They are safely in your garage. That is the first step. The next step is up to you. You must be the one to finally rid them from your life forever. Keeping his memory alive is fine! Keep him in your heart! But, keeping his old socks and pants won't bring him back to you, you know."

She stood up and looked more hurt than he had ever seen her. She pushed him once more, ran down the stairs, and down the hall. He followed again, and was on the bottom step when he heard the backdoor screen screech open and then slam shut. He turned the corner toward the kitchen in time to see her flying down the porch steps, her red dress flowing behind her.

A red dress.

"Wait," he said to himself. The vision revealed by the death teller early this morning, the one which he assumed took place in a garden shed…could it have been a garage instead? She had on a red sundress in that vision. He sprinted through the house, drawing his wand, and calling her name as he ran out the door. "HERMIONE!"


	12. TWELVE

**TWELVE –**

Everything that happened next happened as if in slow motion. Lucius felt as if he were outside himself, a mere observer of the action as it unfolded. He ran outside the backdoor, wand waving in the air, yelling her name. He ran straight through the back garden to the old, weathered garage. He ran in the opened side door just as he saw what indeed looked like a large sickle slice through the air. The garage was mostly dark even in the light of day, so he had trouble making out just where she was. He yelled her name again, but it sounded hollow, almost as if it echoed throughout the small building, and then he saw her fall in a heap on the floor. He screamed in a blind rage, a fury, and without forethought yelled, "Avada Kedavra" and the person with the sickle fell to the ground, dead.

He stepped over her attacker and ran over to Hermione's body on the floor, as it lay partially under an old wooden worktable. He said aloud, "Don't be dead, please, don't be dead." With a catch in his throat, he bent down to her and said, "Hermione?"

He stood back up and tore an old paper blind off a window that was directly above them, so he might see her better. She was in a heap on the floor, among a pile of clothing. He began to throw the clothing away from her, still searching….searching… trying to discover if she was alive or dead. She finally opened her eyes. She was holding a deep gash on her arm, which was pumping blood, a crimson red. He pulled her out from under the table, up into his arms, and apparated them into her house.

As soon as they reached the safety of the kitchen he dropped his wand. He looked at her arm. It was almost sliced in two, and her face was white and ashen. He put both hands on her face and said, "Are you alright, besides your arm?"

"My arm," she repeated cryptically. He thought she might be going into shock.

"Did you see your attacker?" he asked.

She shook her head no. "I heard you call my name from outside, and I turned to see if you were behind me, and then I saw a glint of silver from something, and I ducked down as soon as I heard you call my name the second time. Who was that? Are they dead?"

"I can assure you, they are dead." He looked around the kitchen, trying in vain to find something to put around her arm and opting instead to apparate her directly to St. Mungo's. He would worry about the dead body in the garage later.

He paced around the hallway while the stupid healers worked on her arm. Harry Potter came running down the hall. Lucius had already Floo'd him and told him about the attack.

"Did you find the person?" Lucius asked.

Harry merely nodded and said, "Is she alright?"

"I truthfully don't know yet. They won't tell me anything, because apparently I'm not family," Lucius said in disgust.

"You could always tell them you're her father," Harry said with spite.

Lucius said, "Enough of your petty jealousy, Potter. I get it, you don't like me, you don't want me near your friend, but that is all beside the point at the moment."

"You know that I will have to take you into custody, temporarily, until we can ascertain from Hermione what happened," he said.

"I bloody well won't let you take me anywhere, Potter, not yet. Now, who was the person in her garage? Do you know?"

Harry merely nodded.

"WELL?" Lucius almost shouted.

"It was Mark Weaver, her co-worker. As to the why, I have no clue yet," Harry said, pacing back and forth. "At least it's over, no matter the reason."

Lucius wondered if that were a true statement. He couldn't help but to think it was not and he wasn't sure why he thought that, he just did.

A Healer walked out of the examine room and said, "You may go in now." Lucius started in, but the healer raised his hand. "I'm sorry, Sir, but she wants to see Mr. Potter."

Lucius frowned, but swept his hand toward her room in a gracious offer to Harry to join her in her room. Let Potter see her first. Lucius had the rest of his life to see her.

An hour later, Lucius slumped against a hard sofa in the waiting room, his head lolling to the side. Harry walked in and he quickly stood. "Well, am I to be arrested now, or shall I say goodbye to Hermione first?" he asked.

"There will be no arresting of anyone tonight. She said you were protecting her," Harry said.

"That took you an hour to discuss?" Lucius asked.

"We discussed some other things as well. I'm on my way to interview Mark's new wife. She must still be on her honeymoon and wondering where her new husband is. I need to find out the connection here. There has to be a reason why he would try to kill her," Harry said, running his right hand through his messy hair.

"It has to be connected to Allen's death," Lucius said.

Harry said, "Allen? Since when were you on first name basis with Allen?"

"She didn't tell you?" Lucius asked.

"No, by God, but you're going to tell me what you know before I leave here," Harry said.

Another hour came and went. Lucius told Harry everything he had told Hermione, and a bit more. He was withholding some things from her, but only for her own protection. He wasn't sure there was a point anymore.

He walked back and forth in front of her door. She had yet to ask to see him, and being the proud man that he was, he wouldn't go where he wasn't wanted. Well, maybe he could just take a peek. He opened the door a bit and looked inside her room

She appeared asleep. She was on her side. The room was mostly dark, since it was now late afternoon. He walked in and saw her arm was heavily wrapped. The Healers said they had a difficult time healing the wound, and that she might have some permanent damage. All he had wanted, from the very beginning, was for her to start living again. He had come so close to losing her today, and he felt responsible once more. This time, because he removed Allen's fucking clothes to the garage. It seemed harmless enough, but instead of giving her a new lease on life, he almost cost her, her life instead.

He was a fool.

He had caused her more trouble than he had ever intended. He was intrigued by her, and he had wanted to get to know her better, which he now recognized as selfish. He should have left her alone. Would any of this have happened if he hadn't agreed to work with her? (Or in truth, if he hadn't manipulated everyone into making sure he worked with her.)

He almost felt he should blame Allen. If he had never met Allen, he would never have fallen in love with Hermione. Yes, let him blame a dead man, for he no longer wanted to blame himself.

He looked down at her and stroked her hair. He knew she would be safe here, for the halls were thick with Aurors. He would leave, go back to his son's house, and never return. Never cause her another spot of trouble.

He wanted to be sure of something first.

He picked the now ominous red sphere out of his robe pocket, where he had vanquished it earlier, and held it in his hands. He shut his eyes and said the incantation.

After only a few moments, he dropped the death teller, and it landed on her bed. He was shaking and sweating. She had opened her eyes and was sitting up in the bed. Her eyes locked with his, holding a question which he was constrained to answer. The truth was simple. It wasn't over. He still saw her death, and it was worse than before. He shook his head and she placed her feet on the floor, and cradling her bad arm in her good one, she stepped up to him and leaned into his body, as if to comfort him. He should be comforting her, but here she was, almost killed for the third time, and she was comforting him the best she could with no words passing between them.

She placed her hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. She said, "Take me home."

"The Aurors…" he started.

"I don't care, please, take me home," she said.

"Potter said..." he began.

"I don't care! Please! Take me home! I want to go home!" She seemed almost desperate.

He would take her home. He would take her home and keep her locked up for all time, if necessary.

Sitting on her couch, with her head on his thigh, all he could think was that he failed her somehow. There was still someone out there who wanted her dead and he didn't have a clue how to protect her. As soon as they returned from St. Mungo's he reinforced his wards, and then reinforced them again. He put wards all around the outside as well, something he should have thought of the first time.

He looked down at her again. His insides froze when he remembered digging her out from under that worktable, and when he saw all that blood. He needed to get a hold of himself so he wouldn't make any more mistakes. He needed to start thinking with his brain, and not his heart, because thinking with his heart just might result in her death.

Later that afternoon, after she awoke form her nap, and in the haze of the sunset, Hermione sat at one end of the dining room table and Lucius at the other. They were eating quietly when she suddenly asked to see the death teller. He was opposed, but it was her choice to make, not his.

She had to do this. She had to try to figure out who wanted her dead and why. She pushed her plate away from her and said, "You said after we ate you would let me see the death teller. I'm done eating."

Even though he had no appetite and had been pushing his food around on his plate for ten minutes, he said, "I, however, am not done yet. You will have to wait."

She obeyed with a sharp intake of breath. He finished his food, though each bite seemed to stick in his throat, and he cleared away the plates. He stood for a long moment at her kitchen window. He knew she had walked in the room and was right behind him. She leaned her cheek on his back. She had to see this for herself, and he knew it, so he turned around, put one arm around her shoulders and removed the red globe from his pocket. He said, "Sit down first."

"That bad, huh?" she said, with a sad smile.

He handed the ball to her as she sat at the kitchen table. She hadn't even said the incantation yet, but just holding the evil sphere made her fill with dread. She gasped even as he stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Relax. It can be avoided. Not matter what you see, it can be stopped, remember that."

She nodded, held the sphere between her hands, and said the incantation.

The effect was immediate. She saw a gun. A Muggle gun pointed at her body. She was in a totally unfamiliar place. She took both comfort and pain in that fact. At least she wouldn't die at her home, but on the other hand, she was going to die in a strange place, and that made her sad. The person, the would be killer, was cloaked all in black as he was before, but this time, he pointed a gun at her and she saw his hands for the first time. She was about to take notice of that, for something about his hands seemed off, when her vision flipped almost 360 degrees. She then saw Lucius, running toward her, and the killer turned and shot Lucius first. He fell over and she screamed. Then, as Hermione laid on the floor, the hilt of the gun was pressed right next to her forehead, and the killer pulled the trigger.

She was dead.

She dropped the sphere and looked up at him. She stood up, frantic, and said, "Pick it up and say the incantation!"

"Why?" he asked. What had she seen? Was it different than what he had seen earlier at Hospital?

"I have to be sure that you don't die! I saw the person shoot you with a Muggle weapon! Please, for my own peace of mind, look inside the death teller and see if you die that way. I can't be held responsible for your death!" She picked the dark object up from the floor with her good hand, and pressed it in his hands.

"I don't have to look. I saw that too, but I didn't die, only you did," he said with sadness. "You can't see my death in the death teller unless I say the incantation. You can only see your own. I didn't die." He had held it longer than she did. He saw the whole thing. He was wounded, but she was massacred. Her face was blown right off, in one of the most barbaric things he had ever seen.

She almost seemed relieved. She put the death teller on the table and put her good arm around his waist. "Don't die," she said meekly. "Just don't die. I don't want you to die."

"What a strange creature you are, Hermione Granger," he said sincerely. He placed his arms around her protectively, breathing evenly and hoping she would copy his slow, easy rhythm. She did. She was soon soothed by his steady breathing and the movement of his hand up and down her back.

Feeling overwhelmed, she whimpered, "I don't want to die, either."

"You won't, I will make sure of that."

She began to take heavy breaths, gulping in and out as if there was not enough air. He knew she was crying. Tears spread easily down her face, and she didn't even try to wipe them away. She buried her face in his shoulder, and he lifted her easily and took her upstairs to her room, where he placed her on the bed. He started to walk away, and she took his wrist and said one word, "Stay."

She really was a silly thing. Didn't she know by now that he was never leaving her side? She was stuck with him for the rest of her life, which he knew would be a long one. It had to be.

"I will stay forever. I want to make love to you." He bent down and kissed up her jaw, while removing his robes. He moved his mouth down to her collarbone, and her hand went to his chest and his back, and stroked his skin up and down.

He leaned over her, his full weight on the bed. He would have to be careful of her wounded arm. He slid over her body so he was on the right side of her, since her left arm was the one that was wounded. Lying on top of her, she could feel his want. He reached up and pulled off her shirt and bra. He bent back down and kissed her hard and long. This would never get old for him. He would love making love to her forever.

His heart was pounding so hard, he was sure it would pound out of his chest. He wanted so much for her. Not just to make love, but to protect her, and keep her safe, and guide her, and make her his forever. He knew she wanted to make love to him as well, and that one remaining element was what kept him from totally losing his mind with revenge and anger. The Death Eater in him wanted to hex anyone who looked at her crossed-eye. She kept him sane. She made him a 'good man', a feat even his beloved wife was not able to accomplish. She wrapped her good arm around his neck, and then moved her hand to stroke him through his pants. His breathing became more ragged. She turned to her right side, and he to his left, and she kissed him down his neck, his chest, and both nipples. She made him want to explode from joy.

She kissed down farther, and kissed his stomach. She stood up and removed her sleeping pants, the best she could with one hand. He took that opportunity to remove his pants. She started to massage him with a slow rhythm that was both urgent and patient. If anyone died tonight it would undoubtedly be him and at her hand. He felt as if he was captivated and he could not move. Each nerve ending in his body was alive and screaming out for her touch.

She took his throbbing member in her hand, and started to dip her head. He grabbed her by the shoulders, and said, "No, not tonight. Tonight is for you. You need to rest and relax."

She looked confused, and said, "But, I love you."

'She loves me!' he thought. Not only had he deceive the poor girl, now he made her feel as if she had to show her love through a 'physical act'. He pulled her to him and kissed her with all the passion he had ever felt, all bottle up, and about to combust at once. He needed to feel her contact, to undo the guilt he felt about not telling her the truth in the beginning, and for causing her all this heartache and pain.

He pushed her back to her back, and lifted one hand, and apprehensively, almost like it was the first time he had ever touched her, he lifted one breast and put his mouth on her nipple. She whimpered and arched toward his touch. She needed him inside her now. He put his mouth on the other breast, and he heard her sigh again. That was what he wanted. He wanted her to want him. He rolled the nipple with his tongue and she cried out his name. His name escaping her lips during a shared passion was all the reassurance he needed that he was meant to be with her.

He brushed his fingers between her legs and sought out the accolade that would be surely become his and his alone for all time. He wanted to make sure she cried out for more. He was dying inside with his want. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and he knew he would die before hurting her, or kill anyone else who tried to hurt her.

He ran his long finger down her cleft and she shivered. She was wet and ready, and so soft to his touch. He dipped his finger inside, just to see what bliss he could incite. He taunted her until her hips were moving under him, and she started to whimper louder than before. He rested his body between her legs, and it was then that he replaced his finger with his mouth, and she let out an audible gasp, and began to pant.

He continued to torment her until she started her orgasm, and then at last he ascended her body, raised himself on his elbows and entered her in a single, swift motion. He felt he was going to come immediately, but he did not want it to end. She held on to his shoulder and he started to pull out of her, only to push back in. The solidity of him compare to the suppleness of her made Lucius feel closer to pure rapture than he had ever felt with anyone.

She was his, completely and truly. She screamed out once more and pulled hard on his shoulders. He knew the signs, and his release came rapidly, followed by her own. He dropped his body by her body as both their spasms subsided. He rolled to his side and pulled her tightly next to him. He was afraid of losing her. "You belong to me. I can never let you go now. You are going to have to marry me, I'm afraid, because I love you so much," he said with bated breath. What would she say to that?

She looked up to his face and cupped his cheek with her hand. She leaned up and gave him an enduring kiss on the mouth. She kissed him keenly and with her kiss she answered him the only way she knew how. Her answer was an implied, "I'm not going anywhere."

He held her so close she could barely breathe. He didn't want inference or anything implied. He wanted an answer. He said, "Say something, please."

"I love you," she said. "I can't imagine my life without you, so if that was your clumsy way of asking me to marry you, then the answer is yes."

"You might not want to agree yet. I still have something else to tell you," he finally confessed. He propped up on his elbow, and placed his hand over her heart. She stared up at him, seemingly afraid of what he might tell her now.

She had every right to be afraid. What he was about to say scared him, too.


	13. THIRTEEN

**THIRTEEN:**

Lucius stood up and threw a black robe over his body. Hermione sat up in the bed, pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts, and propped all the pillows behind her. She leaned against the headboard and said, "I'm not sure I can handle more revelations. This has been the longest weekend on record, and I just want to make it to Monday morning, alive and relatively happy. No more drama. Whatever you want to reveal to me, are you sure it can't wait until then?"

"No," he said simply. "It cannot wait."

She looked at her bedside table and at the small clock thereon. "Really? Monday will be here officially in just an hour. You can't even wait one hour?" she asked with a sad smile.

"I wish I could," he said back.

She leaned her head back until it touched the wall, placed her arm over her eyes, and said, "I think I would prefer that the person who wants to kill me just come and do it already. They are incompetent, apparently."

"And for that I am thankful," he said. He sat beside her on the bed and said, "I have one last thing to tell you, one more secret my dear, for I already confessed my sins to your precious Potter and he warned me if I didn't tell you before morning, he would. I would rather you hear it from me." He removed her arm from over her eyes, and held her hand. "As much as I hate Potter, I know he is a man of his word."

Hermione sat up again, a bit more attentive, and removed her hand from his. She clasped her hands together and said, "Speak."

Hermione had never seen Lucius look as apprehensive and anxious as he did before her. He always seemed so confident and self-reliant; however the man in front of her seemed sullen and unsure. She felt the need to place her hand back in his. "You can tell me anything, and it won't change how much I have come to love you."

Those seemed to be the words for which he was waiting. He saw only truthfulness and compassion coming from the woman who sat beside him on the bed where they had just made love. He was the one to remove his hand from hers this time, because her gentle touch and sympathetic expression only caused him to feel guilty, and Lucius Malfoy had never had a guilty day in his life until he met her. He never regretted a single thing he had done, even when what he had done had hurt others, until now that was. Truthfully, he still didn't regret what he had done, he just regretted that what he had done had precipitated her pain, and was now about to elongate it. What he was about to tell her would hurt her more than anything else had.

He stood up and said, "Your fiancé was working on something so secret that only the Minister of Magic, Allen and I, knew about the project. Even head Auror Harry Potter was kept in the dark about the project."

"What was it? Why did you know about it?" she asked. She shifted from her position, placed her feet on the floor, walked over to the dresser, and tried to place a nightgown from her drawer over her head. Her arm was still bandaged, and she found movement difficult. He helped her with the gown and went to move to the window seat at the far end of the bedroom. She followed and sat beside him. She repeated, "What was the project?"

"The same one you are now working on, because you know you are carrying on his work, but to be more specific, instead of examining dark objects, Allen was working on dark spells. He was trying to find out the validity of some spells, with actual execution."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"He had to test them out, didn't he?" he asked.

"On whom?" she asked.

"My fellow prisoners," he said.

She had a deep intake of breath, a gasp, and said, "Did they test them on you?"

"No, not on me," he said. He looked to the floor and then back to her. "My involvement with the project was not one of test subject, but one as mentor. You see, some of the dark spells he was studying were of my own creation. So my being there was not happenstance, but by design."

Hermione swallowed hard and urged him to continue by nodding her head.

"When the Ministry raided my home I was in prison and powerless to stop them. Allen, as you know, started the project in which you are now working. In his work he found a text that when decoded revealed dark spells; if made known, they could change the history of our world, and not for the better."

"For generations my family has supported the dark arts. My grandfather and my father were men of vast intelligence, and they passed on the art of spell design to me. All spells start with an idea, and then are tested to see if they have legitimacy. The spells in the book Allen found were of the darkest, most dangerous nature. He came to me originally and used Veritaserum on me to be sure that no one else knew of the existence of this book. They did not. I was shocked Allen was even able to break the code to open the damn thing," Lucius said with a small laugh.

"A short while later, Allen came to see me again, and he and the Minister assure me my freedom if I would help them dissect these spells, help Allen examine their properties, and see which worked and which didn't. For freedom, I would have agreed to almost anything. Only the Minister, Allen, Draco, and this time, Potter, knew I was released. The other prisoners were told I was put in solitary confinement. The general public believed I was still in prison. The truth was that I was under house arrest with my son."

Hermione looked shocked finally. "Harry knew?" she asked, dumbstruck. She stood up and began pacing the room. He stood up too, and wondered for the briefest moment where her wand was, afraid she might use it on him because of his confession. When he saw it on the other side of the room, on top of the chest of drawers, he breathed a sigh of relief and continued.

"Yes, Potter knew, but only that I was granted an early pardon and release. Don't judge him too harshly, Hermione. We all took an oath not to divulge the secrets."

"Why are you at liberty to divulge them now?" she asked.

"The secrets we were all protecting have already been discovered by another party, so the Wizard's oath we all took is now broken."

A small sob felt stuck in her throat and when she opened her mouth to speak, it escaped, and it broke his heart. She sat on the bed again, wrapped her good arm on top of her injured arm, and rocked back and forth. "Is this why Allen was killed? Someone discovered what he was doing?"

This time he merely nodded. This was the thing that he knew he would find the hardest to admit, so he was unable to say the words aloud. She said, "Finish the story please."

"Someone discovered Allen's project, a fact we all became aware of while he was still alive. A fact that we feel led to his death."

"Allen's been dead for months and months! You've been at liberty to tell me the truth all this time, and you are just now telling me?" She stood up again and said, "Actually, you still aren't even telling me anything! Cut to the chase, Lucius. What are you trying to say to me?"

He asked, "Don't you find it odd that Mark Weaver would try to kill you?"

"Yes, I find that more than odd, I find it unlikely. We were very good friends," she said. "He worked with Allen before I even worked with him. He was one of Allen's best friends. What does that have to do with anything? I feel we are running around in circles and it's frustrating me! What was Allen's project?"

Lucius ignored her question and indignation and said, "What motive would Mark have for killing Allen, because we need to rightfully assume that the person who is trying to kill you was the one that killed him. Furthermore, how could a man like Mark, who worked so closely with you and with Joy Humphries confuse the two of you? He was the one that admitted to sending Joy here the other day, which resulted in her death. If he was the killer, that means he knew Joy was going to be here, and he wanted her dead as well as you. You were his boss, she was his assistant, and he would not have wanted you both dead."

Hermione turned to look out the window, though it was the middle of the night, and she could only see her own reflection. He stood behind her. "The more likely story is that someone wanted all three of you, Mark, Joy and you, killed because of the project."

"No," was all she could say. He turned her around.

"The person who killed Joy, and made sure I killed Mark, and who is trying to kill you is the same person, and this person doesn't want the project to continue. Shall I tell you about one of the dark spells we were working on, Hermione?"

She nodded as another cry escaped her. He knew that she was now feeling her own brand of guilt, over the deaths of her coworkers.

"What are the three Unforgivables, Hermione?"

"Lucius, just tell me already," she begged, turning toward him and placing her hands on his chest. She leaned into him slightly, so exhausted with it all. "My patience is wearing thin and my arm is throbbing, as is my head. We both know the three Unforgivables, especially you."

She sat back on the bed. He grinned. He liked that she still had some spunk in her. He liked that she got in that small jab at him. That meant she would be okay. He sat next to her again, in the same position in which they started their conversation and said, "Avada, Crucio and Imperio. These three curses have no power unless the person saying the curse has true intent. For instance," he said, standing, walking over to his slacks, and withdrawing his wand. He pointed it at her and shouted, "CRUCIO!"

She was shocked and surprised as she huddled on the bed waiting for the pain to start, however, nothing happened. She looked back up at him as he walked over to the chest of drawers for her wand. He threw it at her. "Your turn. Try one on me, any one will do."

Instead she rushed up to him and slapped him hard. "What are you doing?"

He grabbed her wrist, pushed her away from him, picked her wand up from the bed and placed it in her good hand. He placed his wand on the dresser behind him and said, "I am almost afraid to tell you to try again, for I know you are angry enough at the moment for them to possibly work, and undoubtedly you would do me proud, however, try one and see, except the Avada, because you seem angry enough to kill me right now. Go on, I'm unarmed."

She did as he prompted. With a set and angry look on her face, she raised her wand and said, "CRUCIO!"

Nothing happened. She threw her wand across the room and collapsed on the floor. He picked her up by the shoulders and sat her back on the bed.

"The point I am making is that for any of the Unforgivables to work, the person has to have intent! They have to want to inflict pain for the Crucio to work, they have to want to enforce their will for the Imperio to work and more importantly, they have to want the other person dead for the Avada to work! Unlike senseless Muggle weapons like guns, which any fool can use, the Avada only works with intent. This is what sets us apart from Muggles. Well, more than that sets us apart, but that is neither here nor there at the moment."

"I did not want to hurt you, so perhaps for the first time in my life, the Crucio did not work. Even as angry as you are with me, the Crucio you performed on me also failed. Allen discovered a dark spell written by my grandfather, that when applied to a person, could enable that person the ability to caste any unforgivable without intent."

Hermione looked more confused than before. She lowered her head again and said, "Why would he care about such a dark curse? Why wouldn't he just want to hide the fact that such a curse existed? Lucius, Allen's parents were killed by Death Eaters."

"No they weren't," he said.

She took a deep breath, and said, "I think I know a bit more about him than you do, and believe me, they were killed by Death Eaters!"

"Hermione, they weren't killed by Death Eaters," he said. "They were Death Eaters, well known ones."

She rushed up to him again and pointed her finger in his chest and said, "Why are you lying! Allen's parents were killed in the war! They were killed by the Avada! He hated dark curses!"

"Hermione, I'm not lying! Ask precious Potter if you don't believe me! He knows the truth! That was why this project was so important to Allen, because of whom and what his parents were!" Lucius spat. "Allen may have been a good man, just as my son has turned out to be a good man, but his parents were the most evil, vile people! They made someone like me seem harmless!"

"Allen was a man of scruples!" Hermione said.

"Yes he was, but he was also the son of Death Eaters! That is why he wanted to carry out his work, so that people like his parents could never again hurt the innocent! He knew I knew who they were," Lucius said.

She began to shake all over. She said, "I feel like my life with Allen was a lie! He didn't even trust me enough to tell me the truth! Perhaps the truth was that he didn't love me enough!"

He placed his hands on her cheeks and said, "This revelation takes nothing away from Allen as a man! It takes nothing away from who he was and how much he loved you! I told you, I saw how much he loved you. He loved you more than words could say."

"Does this project have to do with why he was killed? With who is now trying to kill me?" she asked.

"Yes, it has everything to do with both of these things. Allen had a sister, did you know that?" Lucius asked, his hands moving from her face to her shoulders.

"Yes, an older sister, who died when his parents died in the war, although now I don't know if that's the truth or not," she said.

Suddenly, a woman stood in the doorway, pointed her wand at Hermione and Lucius and said, "No, that isn't the truth, Hermione. I didn't die in the war, but you and Mr. Malfoy here have been alive a bit too long now. I intend to remedy that right away."

Lucius placed Hermione behind his back. He reached behind them to try to get his wand from the dresser, while Hermione simultaneously eyed hers on the floor. The woman at the door smiled and said, "Don't even try for your wands."

"I told Potter the killer was someone on the inside," Lucius said.

"Yes, you're smart, for a disgraced Death Eater, aren't you, Mr. Malfoy? You know, there's no reason for you to die. Only the Mudblood, so if you step away right now, I shall kill her, like I killed my brother, and Joy and Mark, and then this will be over and we may both continue with our lives," the woman said.

Lucius smiled and then threw his head back and laughed. "You stupid, stupid girl! You don't really think that is going to happen, do you?"

The woman smiled as well and said, "I know it will happen. You may have prolonged her death, but her death will still come."

Hermione leaned around Lucius, her good arm around his waist and she said, "Why, Jill? Why?"


	14. FOURTEEN

**FOURTEEN – ****  
**  
Hermione wanted to know why. Why would Jill Easterday, Harry's partner of two years, and supposedly Allen's sister, want to kill her? Why did she kill Allen?

Jill kept her wand pointed at both of them and said, "Let's take this conversation downstairs, shall we?" She summoned both of their wands to her, and placed them into her robe. She motioned with her wand toward the door. Lucius placed his hand on Hermione's back and ushered her from the room. They walked down the stairs, all three in a line. When they reached the foyer, Hermione wondered something, and voiced her question aloud.

Turning to face them while Lucius and Jill were still on the stairs, she asked, "How did you get past the wards tonight? They were reinforced by Harry and Lucius."

Lucius smiled and said, "No my dear, Hermione, I didn't reinforce the wards. I lowered them so Jill could enter." He took the last two steps down and walked easily into the living room. Hermione was stunned and stayed frozen in place. She didn't understand what he meant by that statement. Jill smiled at her and pointed once more with her wand that she should follow Lucius.

Lucius sat on the end of the couch, still in only a black silk robe, legs crossed, arms crossed, and a look of arrogance gracing his features. Hermione was confused. Did that mean that Lucius was a part of this from the beginning? She sat on the other end of the couch, as far away from him as she could, while accusatory thoughts race through her mind.

"Now, Lucius," Jill said, crossing a path back and forth in front of them, "I think the Mudblood wants to know why. Do you want to answer that, or shall I?"

Lucius gripped the arm of the couch, an action Hermione saw with her peripheral vision. On the outside, he remained cool. He smiled at the woman and said, "Frankly my dear, I didn't know until a minute ago if my suspicions about you were true or not. Now that I know you are the guilty party, I could spout off all sorts of conspiracy theories, but they would only be conjecture. Why don't you just cut to the chase, and explain everything yourself. I have no knowledge of your motives, although I am sure they are spectacular in nature."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that Lucius wasn't a part of this, at least she hoped not. She said, "Before you kill me Jill, and before you tell us why, may I ask Lucius a question?"

"By all means, but be quick, I would like to kill you before Harry Potter notices I'm missing. He's been watching me quite closely," Jill said.

Hermione turned to Lucius and said, "You lowered the wards?"

"Yes, I did," he said.

"Have you lied to me, besides the lies that you've already admitted?" she asked. She looked sad and defeated, and he was more than a bit hurt by her apparent accusations, but he understood her confusion and her lack of trust, and at the moment, her accusations might work for their benefit. Hermione's mistrust of him might just give them a way out of this.

He smiled, more of a snide smirk, as Jill looked at him and said, "I think I would like the answer to that as well. I did find it curiously easy to enter the house. I wasn't aware that you had lowered the wards."

Lucius looked on with a demeanor which was haughty and superior. He said, "Your brother bore your family's shame amazingly well on the outside, but on the inside, it tore him apart. I used Legilimency on him, I saw he had a sister, I saw who his parents were, and I saw how he felt he must atone for the sins of his family. Do you know, my dear, he never fully trusted you. He knew you had a dark place deep in your soul, just like your parents, but he wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, that you could change. In the end, trusting you killed him."

He looked over to Hermione and said, "I never really saw who his sister was. He managed to hide her face from me. I now know he only let me see what he wanted me to see, which was his guilt and pain about his parents, and his deep undying love for you."

"Lucius, just tell me, you had nothing to do with any of this, did you?" she asked, still feeling betrayed.

"My dear, I was a Death Eater. Everything I knew and believed in was gone, taken from me. I saw a way to earn my freedom. I also saw Allen's death in the Death Teller, just as I saw yours; the only difference is that I did nothing to warn him, as I did you."

He hoped she would know that was a lie. He hoped that Allen's sister did not. Hermione's crestfallen look, and Jill's triumphant one, was enough to tell him that they both believed him. He would have to let Hermione continue to believe for now, if they were to get out of this alive.

Jill laughed and said, "Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, and once a Death Eater's child, always a Death Eater's child. I tried to tell my brother this, but no, he felt the need for retribution." She turned to Hermione and said, "He sold all of our parent's possessions and our family home; he emptied out our vault. Do you know what he did with that money, Hermione?"

Hermione didn't say a word. Jill pointed her wand at Hermione and with a flick of her wrist, and no malice in her voice, said, "Answer me when I ask you a question, Mudblood." Then she shouted, "Crucio!"

Hermione fell off the couch and withered in pain. Lucius clenched his jaw but kept his expression passive, for it was his face that Jill had turned to, and she was apparently convinced of his indifference. She stopped the curse, and placed her foot on Hermione's injured arm, crushing the toe of her shoe in the deep laceration. The bandage was soon crimson red with fresh blood.

She stood over Hermione and said, "Do you know what he did with the money, Hermione?"

Hermione could only shake her head no and cry.

"He gave it to Mudbloods like you! He funded the project you are working on; he gave it to orphanages, to set up scholarships, to provide funds for Mudbloods who were hurt during the war. While our parents died in Azkaban, he gave away every last galleon and he had no right! That money was partly mine! However, because we both changed our names, to hide from our supposed family shame, no one knew I was their heir. And he did it under the guise of working for the Ministry. He seized their property and gave it all away without telling anyone he was their son."

Hermione sat up with her back against the couch. She looked over at Lucius and said, "He was responsible for seizing your property and money as well, wasn't he. Is that what this is about for both of you?" She looked from Lucius back to Jill. "Revenge for stolen money and property? You killed Allen, Joy and Mark because of that? You're going to kill me for that?"

"I can't speak for your lover over there, I happen to know that his son lives very well, so there must have been some hidden money somewhere, but for me, yes, it's a simple as that. No big reveal, sweetheart, just simple revenge."

"I will carry on the work of my brother and his dead little Mudblood fiancée, and won't everyone feel so badly for me. Then, when I have control of all of the dark objects that are currently in your disposal, I will seek my revenge on the rest of your lot. I will release more Death Eaters, and we'll carry on with the Dark Lord's plans to exterminate our race from the blight that taints it, mainly, your kind, Hermione."

"You're insane," Hermione said. She pulled herself up and sat on the couch again. Blood continued to drip onto the floor, and Lucius thought she looked ready to pass out, yet she was still defiant. He loved that woman, defiant to the end.

Lucius applauded. "Good show, and you can carry out your little final act on Miss Granger in a moment, but does anyone want to hear what I have to say on the matter?"

"Not particularly," Hermione said from the sofa. Her head dropped back to the sofa back, and she sighed.

Jill said, "I think your girlfriend is tired of you, Lucius. But go on, I'd like to hear it."

The woman lowered her wand, sat on the chair across the room and smiled. This was what he had been waiting for, the moment he needed, when she lowered her wand, and with it, her defenses. He smiled, raised his hand with the pretense of pushing his hair out of his eyes, but instead, raised his hand to Jill, stood up, and as calmly as she had said "Crucio" to Hermione earlier, he said it to her.

The woman fell off the chair, and dropped her wand, as her face contorted with pain. Hermione looked at him and managed to stand up beside him the best she could.

His hand still stretched out before him, he said, "Pick up her wand if you can, Hermione." Hermione didn't know whether to trust him, but having a wand right now would make her feel better.

The woman continued to scream in pain. "Lucius, no one can deliver an Unforgivable without a wand," Hermione said as she picked up Jill's wand, and then reached in her robe for theirs.

He stopped the torture curse for a moment and said, "Really, then how do you explain the fact that I am about to do this?" He raised his hand to her again and said, "Avada…" but that was as far as he got, because Hermione ran over to him and lowered his arm.

Then, she put her good arm around him and said, "No, don't kill her."

Lucius took Jill's wand from Hermione and placed Hermione behind him. He threw the wand across the room. He then took his own wand from Hermione and he walked up to the woman on the floor and said, "You are a fool! Never trust a former Death Eater, my dear."

"Is that advice for me, too?" Hermione said, now back on the couch. Lucius pointed the wand at Jill, bound her hands and feet and then threw his own wand across the room. He turned to Hermione and smiled.

"No, you should trust me with your life, because I've saved it so many times in the last few days that I rather think it belongs to me now."

"Was that the real project in which you and Allen were working, wandless delivery of the Unforgivables?" she asked.

"No, no one knows about this but you, Jill and me, Hermione," he said. "Although I have never tried it before, I suspected it would be possible, with the same dark spell that makes the Unforgivables deliverable without intention. I said the incantation in my head, and then delivered the Crucio rather easily. You won't give away my secret will you?" He couldn't help but smile.

Hermione looked done in, and closed her eyes and said, "I might not, but what about her?"

"Oh, of course," he said, as if he forgot. He turned to the woman on the floor, picked his wand back up, and pointing it to her he said, "Obliviate!"

He then went to the front door and opened it to let Potter and the other Aurors in the house. Harry was livid. He shouted, "Damn you, Malfoy! You were supposed to lower the wards so we all could enter and that way the other Aurors and I could come and arrest the killer!"

"Oops," he said with a small smile. "I guess I lowered them so only the killer could come in, my mistake."

Harry leaned down to examine his ex-partner and looked back to Lucius and said, "You really were playing a dangerous game!"

"Come now Potter, you're just jealous because you hate to share the hero spotlight," Lucius said. He walked over to Hermione and said, "Will you be alright? Do you need a Healer?" She shook her head no and leaned against him.

Harry said to the other Aurors, "Take her back and give her Veritiserum and get her confession!"

Hermione opened her eyes and said, "Lucius Obliviated her memory! You won't be able to get a confession!"

"You sweet thing, I knew what I was doing. She'll only have forgotten the last few minutes of what occurred," Lucius said, stroking her hair.

"What occurred during the last few minutes?" Harry asked.

"I think the spell might have rebounded back to me, for I've forgotten as well," Lucius said with a crooked smile.

Harry glared at him and then turned to Hermione. "Hermione?" he asked.

"Oh, Harry, I've lost so much blood, I'm delirious. I don't remember a thing," she lied. She really was tired and in quite a bit of pain. She winced and tried to stand up.

Lucius pulled her back to him and said, "Do you need a statement from us today?" Lucius was aware it would be dawn in just an hour or so.

"No, I'll be back on Tuesday for your statements," Harry said. He walked over to Hermione, cupped her cheek, and when she looked up into his eyes he smiled, leaned down, and kissed her forehead. When they had all left, Lucius healed her arm again, and then carried her upstairs to the bed.

He placed her on top of the sheets, and placed his body beside her. He kissed her cheek and said, "It's over now. Tell me, did you really have doubts about me, even for a second?"

"Maybe a second, but not really," she said. "I knew I could trust you."

"Then my acting skills must be honed, even though they seemed to convince Miss Jill," he said. He pulled her to his chest.

"Well, she doesn't know you as well as I do," she said. He felt her salty tears upon his chest before he heard them.

He held her tight and said, "Get some sleep now, my love. No one will ever hurt you again. Don't cry. Please."

She wiped the tears from her eyes and just as she started to close them to sleep she felt his lips on her skin. He kissed across her face to her neck, little soft kisses, like a trail of whispers, all saying the same thing…I love you, I love you.

His hand cupped her face as he pushed her to her back. His kisses to her mouth felt almost like a brand, as if he was searing his lips to hers so that she would know she belonged to him and no one else. The smell of him filled her nostrils and senses and swirled around her brain. The warmth of his body on hers made her feel as though she was falling into a black abyss, but she found that she didn't care.

This kiss was different. This kiss was astonishingly different, more than desire, more than want; it sent her over the edge, reeling from the love that rebounded from his lips to hers. He pulled her even closer, so that her breasts were against his bare chest. When did he remove his robe? When did he remove her gown? She pushed him away and said, "You used wandless magic to remove our clothes?"

He shrugged, and started to kiss her again, but she pushed him away once more and said, "Seriously, starting tomorrow, you WILL teach me that."

"Do you desire me for me, or for my knowledge?" he asked with one eyebrow raised.

She thought about it entirely too long in his opinion, although he knew the truth. His hand went from her ribcage to one of her breasts, as his mouth descended to the other breast. She clutched his arms and he looked up at her and said, "Now, tell me again, what do you wanted from me? My knowledge or my love?"

Her eyes were dark and smoldering, and she said, "I want you to make love to me."

"That's what I thought," he said with a self-satisfying smirk.

His mouth started back toward her breasts when he heard her say, "Then I want you to teach me wandless magic."

He placed a hand over her mouth, to shut her up, and continued his pursuits on her breasts. A low, guttural sound came from deep within him, and his heart began to beat so loudly that he felt it in his ears. His mouth moved from one breast, to the other, then up to her neck, her jaw, her ear. He pressed his lips to hers once more and dipped his tongue deeply, hungrily, into her mouth. His hand went down her cleavage, down her stomach, between her legs, where his fingers flicked her opening lightly.

She moaned now. That was the response he wanted. In a way, it was the only way he would ever get in the last word, so to speak, though no words were passing between them.

The effects of his mouth and hands was overwhelming her, intoxicating her, and she felt as if she were drowning. He laughed a low, seductive laugh and he said, "You are so beautiful."

He wanted to take his time. He looked at her breasts, felt the weight of one and said, "Please, don't misunderstand what I am about to say." He hesitated, because he had one last confession to make. She opened her eyes and silently begged him to continue.

"It is just that I have wanted you for such a long time," he said. "I wanted you even while your Allen still lived, but believe me, if I could have stopped his death, I would have. I never saw his death in the Death Teller. That was a lie. I would never have wanted you at the expense of his life. You believe that, don't you?" He seemed really worried that she might not believe him.

"I know that, Lucius. I want to live again. I want to love again. I know you're the person to help me do that. Help me to live again," she said softly.

He wanted that too, almost as much as he wanted her.

He smiled now as he drew a finger down her face, to her chin, to the place between her breast, to her navel, and below. He placed the finger at her opening again, moved it back and forth, until she began to whimper, until she was wet and ready. He got up on his knees, placed one hand on her hip, and the other at her opening and slid his fingers deeper, working them in and out, twirling them and curving them upward, until she started to withering and squirm.

His lips found her clitoris and with an almost perfect rhythm of his mouth and finger, gliding effortless, delicately, and expertly, she had a delightful orgasm, yet, he didn't stop.

She was breathing heavily and her legs trembling so badly and she thought she couldn't take much more when she screamed, "PLEASE! Make love to me!"

"Not yet," he said. He stopped the perfect harmony he started and began to touch her all over with the hands of a sculptor, with her as his piece of clay. He slid his mouth over hers again, and then took one of her nipples back in his mouth, his teeth nipping at it until it was a hard point. Then he did the same to the other. She began to moan again, and he could tell she was close to coming a second time just from him suckling on her breast. He stopped and repeated, "Not yet."

"Where do you get your stamina, old man?" she said.

He laughed a full, belly laugh. "I'll show you old," he said in a whisper, more to himself than to her.

His mouth once again slid down her body, leaving a wet trail, and he dipped his tongue into her folds. His hands ran up her body to her breasts as his tongue flicked and tickled her until she was thrumming, tingling and about to become completely undone.

He gripped her hips tighter and decided he'd had enough, and so had she. The stroking of his tongue became more urgent and hard, as she grinded against him, seeking her own reward, which he was ready to finally bestow her.

He leaned away and she said, "Please, what do you want from me? I was so close!"

"Beg," he said.

"For Merlin's sake!" she said. "If this is going to be a power thing, we can stop right now for all I…" she didn't say another word, because his mouth came down hard on hers, because he finally decided he didn't care. She didn't have to beg. He just wanted to come himself.

He slipped inside her so easily. It was how it was supposed to be. He eased himself in and out, long, hard strokes, and she lifted her hips slightly and wrapped her legs around his thighs.

It was the urging he needed. He decided that was better than begging. He plunged into her deeper, and faster, and she continued to match him stroke for stroke, his equal in every way.

They were both on the verge of eruption, on the edge of a sexual abyss, when her head went back and she screamed out in pleasure, the waves of desire crested and washed over them both. He cried out a second after she did, and collapsed on top of her.

He was so tired he didn't think he could move. Maybe he was too old for her. He pulled out of her and finally moved to her side. They lay together, limbs entwined with limbs, Hermione stroking his long hair, his hand resting on her stomach.

Before they both drifted off to sleep he said, "Since I saved your life, I really do think you owe me, don't you?"

"Whatever you want, you can have," she said, "Just shut up and let me sleep."

He smiled, and placed a kiss on her cheek. "I am keeping you to that promise."

She opened her eyes and said, "Wait, maybe you should tell me what you want first."

"Sorry, you already gave it to me, you should have asked what I wanted before you so easily said I could have anything," he said.

She frowned and said, "Seriously, what do you want?"

"You."

"Gee, is that all?" she asked.

"That's enough," he said.

"Do I get anything in return?"

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I'll think about it and get back to you," she said.

He reached over and pinched her bum. She said, "Hey, fine, I want you to marry me."

"That can be arranged." He pulled her to him and smiled. He already knew that was going to happen. He knew it before he even started working with her.

He laughed. She looked up at him and said, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, go to sleep, Hermione. I love you, I really do," he said and he laughed again. He laughed at the absurdity of that statement, of that fact that he said he loved her and because it was true.

"I love you, too, you stupid, old Death Eater," she said. "I know you're laughing because of the irony which is us."

Yes, the irony. The best known Death Eater and the world's most famous mudblood, together, in love and about to be married. The world was truly tipping from its axis. He knew one thing, their children would be smart and beautiful and would probably one day rule the world.

My, she was smart. He really would have to keep her.

THE END (Except, didn't I promise one reader an Epilogue?)


	15. EPILOGUE

**Epilogue:  
**  
They were both about to fall asleep, when Hermione asked, "Lucius, where is the Death Teller?"

"Why?"

"Please, will you get it and look at it one more time, and tell me if I'm finally safe. Tell me if you're finally safe. I don't want to look at it myself, but I have to know," she said. She pushed herself away from him and he sat up in bed, held out his hand, and the red sphere, which started all of this, appeared in his hand.

She sat up as well and said, "You really do need to teach me wandless magic, you know."

He laughed and said, "I plan to teach you all sorts of things, my love." He placed both his hands around the red ball and closed his eyes. The visions rushed to him.

He saw his own death first; oddly enough it was in the very room they were in at that moment. He saw Draco standing at the foot of the bed, and he seemed older than Lucius was now. Then he saw Hermione holding his hand, crying. She too was older, much older. He saw the outline of other people behind Draco and Hermione, but their faces weren't clear. Lucius almost thought it was an anticlimactic way for him to die, as an old man, in bed, surrounded my family, but then, that was just him. He was sure that was the way most people preferred to die.

He opened his eyes and said, "Well, apparently I die a very peaceful death at a very old age, thank you very much."

"You seemed irked about that," she said with a smile.

"I was a Death Eater, the least I could do is to go down in a blaze of glory," he said.

"Was I in your vision?" she asked.

Should he tell her? He said, "Yes, you were, and you were crying, so at least that means you must really love me."

"I'll tell you what," she said, seemingly excited for a moment, "When I see that your death is imminent, I'll whip up something exciting to happen right before, okay? Maybe I'll challenge you to a duel or something. If you're on your deathbed, I might just win."

He rolled his eyes and said, "You would probably win anyway, so no duel, besides, in my vision, you were pretty old yourself."

"Did I still look good?" she asked.

He laughed and said, "My vanity is rubbing off on you, and do you know what I think about that?"

"What?" she asked with a laugh.

"Bully for you," he said.

She rolled her eyes and said, "Do me now."

He raised his eyebrows and said, "Sex afterward, okay?"

"I didn't mean 'do me' as in sex, I meant, oh never mind, you know what I meant," she said, scolding him. "Just look at my death now."

He purposely looked at his first, because if she hadn't been in his vision, he didn't want to see hers. He wanted to be sure he would go first.

He closed his eyes, said the incantation again, and the vision of her death began. He saw her as a very old lady, with three blonde men standing around her. He was confused, because they all looked liked Draco, but they were so much younger than Hermione, that they couldn't be his son. He let the vision continue, and soon he saw others in the room. All of them looked familiar, yet he had never seen these people before. That was when it hit him. These were his children and grandchild. He and Hermione were going to have a family, a family that extended beyond his son, Draco. He had always wanted more children, and with her, he would have them, three more sons and a handful of grandchildren.

One of the blonde men held her hand and said, "Rest now, Mother. It's time to join Father."

He let the vision end there, because he didn't want to see her death. It was a bittersweet ending to their little story, because it was a happily ever after, but yet, she still died. He didn't want to ever think about her death again.

He placed the sphere on the nightstand and said, "You die having sex with me in the shower."

"What?" she asked. "Wait, how can that be, when you said you die here in this bed as a very old man?"

"Well, you die first, I keep your house apparently, and then when I'm old, I die here in this bed."

She said, "Look again, Lucius, because I think you're full of it."

"You're going to be full of it soon," he said with a wink.

"Seriously, your libido is not one of a 46 year old man," she said. "Now, honestly, how do I die?"

"I told you, having sex with a blonde haired man, in the shower, and I can only assume it's me, I can't help it if I kill you with my incredible sexual prowess," he said. He scooted to the edge of the bed and said, "I think it happens right now, actually."

"I'm tired, Lucius. Let me rest and then you can kill me in the shower later," she said. Then she added, "Wait a minute, you said you saw me in the vision of your death, so I couldn't die before you. Perhaps I'm in the shower with another blonde haired man. You and Draco do bare a striking resemblance with each other."

He turned to look at her and said, "You died an old lady surrounded by our children, happy?" He walked over to her side of the bed and grabbed her good arm and said, "Now, sex in the shower is waiting for us."

"Lucius, I'm not in the mood! We just had sex and I'm tired!" she said.

"I refuse to marry a frigid woman, Hermione," he said, arms crossed, standing beside the bed.

She shut her eyes, turned to her side and said, "Fine, I don't want to marry you anyway." Then she turned to look over her shoulder at him and said, "Is Draco still single?"

"You're so evil, and people think I'm the evil one," he said. He walked back over to the bed and crawled in beside her. "Sleep, Hermione. According to the Death Teller, we have plenty of time."

Hermione turned to Lucius and said, "You give up awfully easy."

"But you're tired, and you're arm hurts, and you have been acting like a whiny baby for the last five minutes," he said.

"Is that any reason to give up so easily?" she said back.

"I'm tired now," he said. He really was.

"Fine, let's both sleep and then we can have some nice, little shower sex later," she said.

"Don't ever say the words 'little' and 'sex' in the same sentence, Hermione," he warned. "We wouldn't want anyone to think you were speaking about me."

"Shut up and go to sleep, but kiss me first," she said.

He wasn't sure he could put up with her bossiness, but he would try. He pulled her to him, kissed her and then said, "Sleep."

- THE END -


End file.
